#coming up on 14 years of the self-removal of the other

[homunculus-argument]

I've learned to be neutral about other people being religious, but my own experience with it was definitely coloured by my issues with my dad. He was a proper Edgelord Atheist, loathing religions as a whole and christianity in particular, never hesitating to remark about how stupid and backwards or primitive it is. My mother didn't care either way, she only talks about god when she talks about gardening. So he was the only one in the house with any strong opinion about it. And yet, me and my sister were babtised, put into a christian daycare for a while and then put into christian religions classes at school.

I always loathed religion classes as a kid and didn't know why, I hated hearing about it and having to put up with it and always felt like the teacher is just insulting us by lying right at our faces, about something that surely nobody actually believes for real. My childhood best friend was put into the non-christian option despite of coming from the same kind of a vaguely culturally christian background as I did, and I envied her intensely for it. I asked repeatedly to get to go to the non-christian classes as well, and was told "no", because my mother didn't think that letting your kids do that was an option even though my friend's parents clearly had already done it.

I had a serious Edgelord Edgy Atheist phase in my teens, and was wrangled into going through confirmation anyway because Everyone Else's Kids Are Doing It Too. The aforementioned friend got to go through a non-religious version of the same thing, which I had not even known was an option, so I didn't think to ask for it. Being wrangled through jesus classes as a 15-year-old bag of spite who was only marginally self-aware enough to avoid physically wearing a fedora, I was not a pleasure to have in class.

My father was physically present in the house until I was 14, until my mother finally accepted that this man's presence might actually cause physical harm - his drunken attempts to cook almost caused a fire, and he drove drunk with me and my sister on board once - and he reluctantly agreed to be removed from the picture. His absence at home made no impact nor difference in our daily life, the man who sleeps in the spare room just wasn't sleeping in the spare room anymore.

We saw him frequently enough after that, he visited us for family events and joined us for outings. At some points I tried to bond with him, over mutual interests and passions, even tried to prompt him to join me on snide remarks about religions that he used to make all the time, but he would not. He refused to bond with his children even over mutually hating the same things. It slowly occurred to me over time that the reason why christianity had played any role in my life was because he had never, at any point at all, moved a finger to stop it. Harmless or not, he had no instinctive desire to move his children away from things he considered bad. He had hated it enough to make it known that he hates it, but genuinely just did not care enough to consider not letting him children grow up in an environment he loathed.

My father died when I was 17, and I never really mourned him - not out of hatred, but because his death had hardly even altered the empty absence that was his presence in my life. I had grown up with religious classes trying to tell me about a loving god, and I had not understood why I had hated it, why I felt betrayed and lied to. My relationship with the christian god I was taught to understand has been exactly the same as my relationship with my father.

Desperately shrieking into a void that is so vast that not even my own echo would answer, and knowing for certain that the dead silence I'm hearing in return is the complete, absolute absence of a loving Father.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Day 14: Mark Hoffman (Pumpkin Spice)

My loves here we are! Day 14! Two whole weeks into Fictober! I hope you've not only enjoyed all the fics especially this smutty week but I also hope you've been enjoying October!

This man makes me absolutely feral so where as this isn't self insert at all this fic is also very much so a gift to myself from myself.

Notes: Minors DNI, Nsfw, Smut, porn with plot. No pronouns used and no description of the reader used either. Age gap and all that good stuff. Mark Hoffman gets called daddy and calls himself daddy in this. Like i said this is literally a present to myself.

"Baby, baby, baby, what did I tell you were the rules before I left this morning?" Mark tsked at you, placing his hand on your throat while looking down at you from his place standing next to the bed.

"Speak my love, use your words" He commanded when you didn't answer him.

"Y-you said I wasn't allowed to touch myself" You said peering up at him through your eyelashes. Mark smiled an almost evil grin.

"And what did you happen to do while I was at work?" He asked in a condescending tone.

You gulped trying to swallow the lump in your throat before answering him.

"I-I touched myself" You whispered, looking down at your hands. Mark put a hand under your chin and brought your head up to meet his eyes.

"What was that?" He asked again.

"I touched myself" You said louder, Immediately flinching as Mark's gaze on you hardened.

"Now my love, please would you care to tell me why you touched yourself when I specifically told you not to?" He sat down on the side of the bed with his hand still under your chin, his other hand coming up to move your hair out of your face as you kept eye contact with him.

"Because I had too Mark" you pleaded, You could tell you peaked his interest with this.

"Why did you have to darling?"

"Because you left me high and dry this morning like a dick!" You said suddenly getting mad remembering how Mark had pushed your hands off him telling you he didn't have time for sleepy morning sex and that he had to get down to the station to continue work on the jigsaw case.

Mark's hand flew up to your throat, squeezing as if reminding you what he could do if you weren't careful.

"I'd watch that fuckin' mouth of yours" He warned "You're already in hot water as it is baby" Your hands grabbed Mark's much larger one that was wrapped around your neck.

"Now if you really are that pissed at me for leaving you this morning I guess maybe I should make it up to my Baby huh?" You nodded at his question. "Use your words or you get nothing" He reminded.

'Yes, Daddy"

"Mmm That's a good baby" He removed the hand from your neck once more to run it down the side of your neck, his fingers tracing the outlines of the last love bites he had left there before the two of you had to attend a ball at the precinct.

"Have to make sure everyone knows to keep their eyes up here" He had told you as he sucked your neck as you finished doing your hair for the night.

As his hands trailed down your body he tugged on the back of your thighs to get you to lie down, He removed his shirt and stood up for a second to remove his pants keeping his boxers on for the time being before moving over to you.

You had already removed your clothing when you thought you would be safe to masturbate without Mark knowing. The only thing between Mark and your entirely naked body was your underwear you had tugged back up your legs when you realized your boyfriend had arrived back home.

Hoffman made quick work of them though, ripping them from your body and tossing the fabric onto the floor.

You had been with the officer for going on 4 years, You had met when he was assigned to your jigsaw case in particular. You had been very unlucky in becoming one of the Killers targets but was one of the lucky few to actually escape.

When you went to the police about it Hoffman was assigned to you almost as soon as you stepped through the doors of the station. Since then the two of you have been inseparable. He found you when you were at your weakest and swore he would take care of you and four years later he was still living up to that promise.

You had breathed life into the officer. Opening up parts of him even he didn't think he was capable of. I mean sure he was still knee deep in making jigsaw traps and had even selected you specifically cause he needed you to be his, but you didn't need to know that at least not yet.

Mark used his finger to caress your cheek gently as you laid underneath him in your shared bed.

"That's my doll huh?" He asked you softly, You nodded finally cracking a smile at him. He returned your smile before finally thrusting into you. You gasped at the new contact of him inside you as he wrapped a hand in your hair bringing your face to his neck as he held you.

"it's ok, this is what daddy's baby has wanted all day so this is what his baby gets" He said shushing you.

You whined as your wrapped your arms around Mark's shoulders.

"Daddy please" Mark was going painstakingly slow, as if almost teasing you as punishment for touching yourself. He chuckled at your whine.

"Aw does my baby want me to go faster?" He rasped in your ear.

You nodded into his neck, groaning as you felt him finally push fully into you. You felt as his balls rub against your bottom half as he held still for a minute.

Tired of waiting you tried to buck up into Mark from underneath him. This caused him to slightly pull out of you and look into your eyes.

"Excuse me doll? You think this is on your terms ? after what you did today?" He reprimanded you.

"Mark please! You can't do this to me" You begged him again "I'm sorry I touched myself I won't do it again besides you said you were gonna make it up to me for this morning"

"I am baby, but I can't just let you get away with touching what belongs to me, What's between your legs does not belong to you ok? It belongs to me, I'm the only one who's allowed to touch it and I sure as shit am the only one who's allowed to fuck it" He growled out pushing himself back into you as hard as he could and starting to roughly thrust.

He set a steady but hard pace and he pulled out and snapped his hips back up to yours. Tears sprung up at the corner of your eyes at the intensity in which he fucked you.

"Oh come on don't cry on me. Isn't this what you wanted?" Mark taunted from above you. His hands now gripping the sheets on either side of your head as he held himself above you.

Your eyes fell shut as you felt the tip of his cock hit against your sweet spot, brining you closer and closer to your climax. Mark brought a hand up to tap you cheek and make you open your eyes.

"Nah baby you look at me when you cum alright?" He said, eyes meeting yours.

You pushed your noses together, eyes never closing again as you felt your climax creep up in the pit of your stomach as your walls clenched around Mark's cock as it painted your walls with white. You were still seeing stars as he pulled out and collapsed next to you on the bed.

You placed your head on his chest and he brought a hand to it to caress your sweaty forehead as his lips kissed it. He used the other to bring the blanket up around the both of you before wrapping the other arm around you to hold you to him.

"You alright baby? It wasn't too much was it?" There was your Mark. A giver and taker in every sense but always with your wellbeing in mind no matter how rough he could get. You nodded.

"Yes daddy I'm fine" You told his softly, clearing starting to fall asleep as you felt his seed leak out of you. You loved that feeling.

"Mmm daddy's good baby"

"I love you daddy"

"I love you too baby, Daddy loves you more then anything"

#saw franchise #saw 2004 #saw #saw x #saw movies #mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman saw #halloween #slasher fandom #slasher x reader

[readingcoco]

TW: eating disorders, recovery

Hello, I don't normally make posts like this but I feel ✨compelled✨

I am a 31 year old lady and I rejoined this website last year to scream into the void about Arthur Morgan (which I have very much done) but I have also made amazing friends and started writing, a hobby I had never considered before, in part because of how inspired I was by the people around me. All of which was unexpected.

The last time I was on this website was over a decade ago, when I was 17 and things were very very different. I was here primarily to find community with other people who were in the depths of their eating disorders, just like I was. It made me feel less alone but it also made me sicker in many ways that I still struggle with today. The only way I was able to find recovery was from removing myself from those spaces and thus leaving this website and others like it for the next 14 years.

I bring this up because I have just come across someone with an ED focused blog interacting with some of my posts. I'm not trying to shame anyone, certainly not the person, because if they are anything like me back then I can only empathize with the level of pain and self hatred they are experiencing. But I can't deny it made me feel weird. And it constantly shocks me that even 14 years into my recovery journey I can still feel unbelievably triggered by discussions of goal weights, calorie counting and thinspo pics 😬

I'm not sure what the point of this post is really, maybe just to articulate the complicated mix of feelings I had towards it. But it did make me think that the biggest thing that I was looking for back then was community, I felt so lonely and thought a space built on the shared experience of being depressed and starving would help ease that loneliness in some way. It in fact had the opposite impact. We were just making each other sicker and I lost more than one friend during that period.

I wish I had found fandom back then instead, which is all about joy and creation, even though many of the people participating are experiencing many of the same issues. It forces you to connect around shared excitement rather than struggle and feeds the soul rather than starves it.

#love to all my sisters with active EDs #i hope i don't sound old and patronising #i probably do #but #recovery is possible #you are so much more than your disorder #fandom #ed recovery #tw ed #personal

[episodicnostalgia]

Star Trek: The Next Generation, 111 (Jan. 9, 1988) - “The Big Goodbye”

Written by: Tracy Torme Directed by: Joseph L. Scanlan

The Breakdown

Picard is prepping for an especially stressful diplomatic mission wherein he is required to recite a specific speech in a complex alien language with a species that is deadly serious about grammar; Empasis on the word ‘deadly’. Noting his mounting anxiety, Beverly Crusher writes Picard a prescription for… a play date on the holodeck, and amazingly Picard takes the doctor’s orders to heart.  In fact, Jean Luc has such a good time playing a noir private-eye thriller that he invites Beverly, Data, and the ship’s 20th century literary buff along with him (his name isn’t important, because we’ll never see him again).  Unfortunately, this transpires at the same time that our Grammar-specific aliens arrive, pre-emptively scanning the ship, which accidentally locks the holodeck and takes the safety protocols offline in one fell swoop (which seems like a pretty substantial design flaw).

While Picard misses every single advance that Crusher makes towards Picard (and folks I gotta tell you, she’s REALLY not being subtle about it), the holo-adventure begins to take a turn for the worse as the program’s mobster-villains show up with fully lethal weapons, which they happily use on Picard’s history-nerd friend (who remarkably survives, but barely). Meanwhile the literal-grammar-nazi-aliens are getting impatient with Riker’s inability to produce Picard for their scheduled meeting (apparently explaining that a ship malfunction has Picard temporarily incapacitated isn’t a viable option).  Thankfully the holodeck door eventually opens, and Picard is able to convince the mobsters to walk through first, causing them to disappear (since there are no holo-emitters in the corridor).  And so Picard is free to deliver his nonsense speech to the grammar enthusiasts, and the day is saved.

The Verdict

Finally! A holodeck Episode!

‘The Big Goodbye’ gives us our first “just-for-fun” episode and it’s about goddamn time. Oh don’t misunderstand, the episode is exactly as ridiculous as what I’ve described above, but for the most part it’s intentional, and in this case it makes all the difference.  I’ve always had a soft spot for holodeck stories, because it gives us a look into what the crew get up to when they aren’t spouting techno-babble, debating the prime directive, or dealing with transporter disasters.

Picard also gets to have some fun here, meaning this might be the first time he doesn’t come across as a total buzzkill. Aside from some clunky pacing and a slightly anticlimactic ending, this is a pretty fun episode.  Superior holodeck adventures would follow, but this one had to walk so the others could run.

3 stars (out of 5)

Additional Observations

Based on what we've seen this season, it would seem that the holodeck is still a fairly new technology, especially considering how Picard marvels at what it can do.

Right off the bat, this episode clearly establishes that holodeck characters are/can become self aware, and are capable experiencing fear (and likely pain). This is just the first of many times that Star Trek will play at this across multiple shows. As fun as these episodes are, it’s always struck me that there should be a greater ethical consideration for Holo-people and their rights.

I have always wondered why the ability to remove safety protocols was ever an option, especially on a holodeck that’s accessible to both crew and civilians alike.

Picard has no business being so clueless about women. In fact when it comes to relationships and courtship the entire crew seems to possess the emotional intelligence of an average 14-year-old.

I gotta hand it to Patrick Stewart, even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense alien gibberish, he commits 100%.

I never mentioned the set design, but this episode also looks great.  Really fun to see the noir aesthetic on Star Trek.

#star trek the next generation #tng season 1 #the big goodbye #retro review #star trek review #star trek tng #star trek #80s tv #80s tv shows #80s tv series #episode review #tv review #tv show review #scifi #jean luc picard #captain picard #beverly crusher #holodeck #holodeck adventures #holodeck episode #detective noir #private detective #private eyes #dixon hill #private investigator #just for fun #tracy torme #joseph l. scanlan #episodic nostalgia

[incomingalbatross]

Finished my first week (I don't go in on Fridays) of Commute Listening! (Plus a day technically because I did have to go in last Saturday.)

Here's the summary of the undertaking so far...and of just how much car/public transit time I've logged:

Bach's Brandenburg Concertos 1-6 My beloveds--the only classical music that IS for sure on my faves list, because in the period when I had a CD player in my bedroom and about three CDs, these were two of them. Still not sure how well I could identify them, but I recognized them once they started playing and greatly enjoyed them.

Artifexian podcast ep 1. Interesting! All about worldbuilding. Just far enough removed from my own interests (yes I love fantasy, no I don't enjoy worldbuilding, it took me years to process that) that I can listen as, like, a spectator, but also listening to two people who do love worldbuilding makes me feel more positive about it. Like the energy.

Several Masses by Haydn (St. Cecilia, Mass in B flat, Mass in honor of the Blessed Virgin). Beautiful, obviously, but... did not grab me. Might just be that Masses and commuting are not the right combination. Might be my chant-inclined mind going "you're drawing out the words too much." Idk.

Art of Manliness ep 1, about Easy Company. INteresting and informative—a window into a subject I wouldn't have sought out on my own.

Out Alive ep 1. About a skier buried in an avalanche! Again, not something I would have sought out myself, but hearing the skier and the other people involved talk about the impact of a crisis situation and near-death experience, without any polish or dramatization... oof. Really interesting.

Reply All Billed as a "podcast about the internet," the first ep was about a social situation enabled by the internet. Also interesting as a window into someone else's personal experience that I don't think you'd quite get in any other medium than this unpolished interview format. This time about relationships instead of death, though.

In the Wind (album) by Peter, Paul and Mary. Branching aside from classical for some folk, since I was in the headspace for something between podcasts and instrumentals. Good! I recognized several of the songs but definitely not all. They also reminded me of several other country and folk artists I could listen to if I want to keep going down that road, in addition to listening to more of their work.

Vivaldi Concertos for Diverse Instruments GOOD. I loved these! They got stuck in my head afterward! Definitely want to try more Vivaldi. Also reinforcing my theory that any kind of music is good music if it involves violins going wild.

Mozart Violin Concertos 3-5 ALSO very very good. And I think I could hear the cleaner/plainer sound of Mozart as opposed to the baroque I'd just been listening to.

My Writing Sucks podcast ep 1, in which an author lovingly roasts her 14-year-old self's writing. Very fun. Endearing. Kinda makes me want to pull out my oldest, worst writing and approach it from an outside perspective, which I think would be Growth if my fragile ego could actually follow through on that. :P Maybe after a few more episodes of this.

Pints With Aquinas episode 1. This is an introductory episode giving background on Aquinas, as opposed to later episodes which will have more actual theology. Already good, though. Little harder for me to stay focused than some of the more fun ones, but I'll be coming back.

Classics for Kids Short and educational segment about classical music. Definitely told me things I don't know! A little short and a little flat in delivery for my needs, but good stuff.

Stuff You Missed in History Class ep 1. Interesting, but same issue as the above—it was just short. I need to check if episode length varies, and if they're all short I might load up six or so at once to give it a better trial. It was interesting but I couldn't get much flavor from one segment.

In conclusion, this project is definitely a success so far. I've been enjoying my commutes even when there's traffic, and I feel like I'm taking in things that I enjoy and are constructive in some way! It's fun for me. And I have a bunch of podcasts in store for next week that I haven't even touched yet.

[cyanide-latte]

Hey friends, mutuals and other fellow writers who are feeling down. Can I level with you for a second? Y'all deserve real and that's what I want to give you here.

Is this going to be an encouragement post? That's the intent. But I don't want it to be the usual affirmation. That's good and it's needed dgmw. But sometimes when you get into a funk about writing you don't want the usual affirmation and encouragement. So I'm going to just give you off-the-cuff and be as real as I can.

Sometimes...writing sucks. Both the act and the final piece. Same is true of any art form, I think: there's just times you'll churn out something that you end up hating or seeing nothing but flaws in what you've made. There's times where just the act of writing is the most awful feeling of an uphill climb, of forcing something that doesn't want to cooperate no matter how much effort you put into it. And there's also going to be time these things overlap or one begets the other.

And that also sucks. In your medium of choice (and yes, writing is an artistic medium, don't bother trying to fight me on that, I don't care how school may have conditioned you to regard it as a mechanical thing, it's art) one of the lowest, most awful and discouraging things is feeling like you're not good enough or skilled enough to hold the implement in your hands and create.

In tandem to that feeling come those thoughts. You know the ones. Every whisper of doubt, of questioning why you're doing this, of asking what the point is, of thinking that even if you make it that there's no point in sharing because someone, somewhere, is going to judge you for daring to put it out there (and more often than not that someone is lurking inside you, in that shadowy, gut-churning lake of self-doubt.)

So, why keep bothering then? What's the point?

I ask myself this semi-frequently. Sometimes there's nothing to spur the questions, sometimes it's a direct reaction to feeling like the few people I really want to read something I wrote just don't care or interact with it. It happens, and I hate it. I cannot stress enough how much I hate that doubt, as well as the worry I'm being childish for wanting interaction.

So why keep writing?

Well, if I've not lost you by now, hopefully what I have to say next won't completely make you scoff and scroll past.

Hope.

Well, hope and a time capsule effect, really.

The thing about hope is we often think of it as a sweet, almost passive and gentle thing, the act of lighting a little candle in a dark room. And hope can be that way; hope and compassion in tandem certainly are evocative of the sweet, kindly image.

But hope is also a very defiant act, and it can be downright aggressive. I don't really like talking about some of the crap I've lived through but here's the skinny on why I'm bringing this up:

Some time ago I found a disc with some very old files on it...including the PDF of all the chapters of a Teen Titans fanfic I was writing when I was 14. I'd started writing fic when I was around 11 or 12, but typically only shared them with a friend from school. At one point I felt bold enough to post a couple fics on FFNet, including that one. Looking over this old PDF, I didn't realize at first that it was mine, my writing was so drastically different to what it's since become. It took a specific couple of moments in the fic as I was reading for me to finally realize "wait, I wrote this!"

And you wanna hear something really wild? It was good! Not at all how I write now, not at all as well-researched as I would be today, but the writing was good, especially when you took into account I was 14 years old and didn't even have regular access to watching the show.

It was also unfinished.

Remember I mentioned a time capsule effect? Where it took me a long time to realize I was reading my own old fic I'd long since taken down, the understanding of why I had removed it and it was unfinished was immediate. Remember that friend I mentioned? Yeah. She was the reason. I'm not going to get into the messy details but suffice it to say that her behavior and treatment of me became abusive at one point and part of the way she kept control of me was to tear down my writing. Constantly. Not even just in online spaces but to my face. Someone who I'd been sharing my stories with for years, so of course I already trusted her judgment. It was a given, no matter how deeply she cut me.

I stopped writing for five years. Every time I tried, that voice of doubt sounded just like her. Dozens of WIPs, of lost ideas, ended up trashed and destroyed. I couldn't write worth shit, so what was the point, you know?

The day I sat down and had a fic idea at 19 years old, I need you to understand I'd not seen that person for a year...and I was still terrified to try and asking what the point even was. Every keystroke, every paragraph of that first chapter, the cutting reminder that I shouldn't even be bothering to try and I couldn't write worth a damn and nobody wanted to read my obviously stupid story anyway was right there, peeking over my shoulder and hissing at me in the dual voice of my own sullenness and her venom.

Writing the first chapter of that fanfic, and then the second, and posting them, I was wracked with anxiety, doubt, self-loathing, a sense of defeat and a deep sense of guilt. Several times I wanted to stop, and almost did.

But like I said, the hope that maybe, maybe, maybe that person and I and that dual voice were all wrong about my writing...that hope was defiant and aggressive. I was working on chapter 3, when I started to think of myself as a bulldog with a steak locked in its jaws that it refused to give up. (I only recently explained this to a friend who started writing and asked me how the heck I could keep at it.) Bulldog visual. Somewhere deep down on some level I couldn't quite tap into in my conscious thought, I did not want to let this steak go.

I posted chapter 3. And a small miracle happened: someone commented. That someone went on to become a dear friend. But it was like floodgates had opened. I gradually got more readers and commenters. Not many, maybe four regular readers total, and not all at once, but across them I started hearing something that, to me at that time, felt like a foreign sentiment. My writing was...good? People thought it was good. They liked it.

Little by little that bulldog gained ground. I kept writing. Not just that fic but I began writing others, and doing more experimental ideas with my writing. Readers came and went but the regulars who stuck around and even some of those who were only around for a while reaffirmed that my writing was good and/or that they enjoyed reading my stories. It still felt strange to hear that, even as much as I tried my best to soak in every compliment and kind word.

If that old Teen Titans unfinished fic PDF is a time capsule of a brighter, more innocent hope that got crushed, when I look at the fic that I started writing at 19 and everything that came after it for a while, I see a different time capsule. A rougher, more defiant hope full of tears and anxiety and doubt and guilt. I look at that fic and several others surrounding it and I'll again be real: I wince at a lot of it. The pacing, some of the plot choices I made, the lack of explanation I gave for some things. It's not a bad fic at all, especially for someone who hadn't written for five solid years and didn't think they could again. Still, I wince all the same because I know more now, I've improved a ton, circumstances have changed and the flaws in all my fics from about ages 19 to 25 are painfully glaring. But that person had hope and was clawing their way back. Little bulldog was gaining ground and not giving up that steak. Heck, not giving up several steaks. A lot of my readership by my mid-to-late 20s had begun to tell me that my writing wasn't just good and entertaining, it had some quality to it they looked forward to, something that even in the shortest and most self-indulgent pieces shone through and hooked them. It didn't just make me happy, it also made many others happy, and many, many of the people who stuck with me since I was 19 (and are still with me now) have talked with me about how much they've watched my writing grow over the years, through everything I've both posted or shared in private. Even the ones I've been reluctant to share or feel are bad.

So, now that I've wrapped up that bit and tucked away the mirror, where does that leave this post?

Usually, when we get in these writing slumps, there's probably external factors, sure. But I think I know pretty well it's that inner voice, the one that can be as ugly as it can sound reasonable, that will really look for a way to justify not wanting to write. Sometimes it's not even a completely cruel or self-harming thought process; often when we find ourselves frustrated or constantly dissatisfied with our work, it's because we're starting a new stage of artistic growth. Something in that artistic part of us is undergoing change, metamorphosis, in our approach to what we make, and if we cannot pinpoint what it is—be it certain techniques, use of devices, or even stylistic approach—it becomes easier to want to give up. Because those pieces we create in the "in-between" stages feel flawed or pointless or wrong somehow, and there is a sense of shame in wanting to share or feel proud of them.

I'm not going to tell you what you should or shouldn't do. What we all need is different from person to person, and I'm not going to force you to parade writing you feel embarrassed about or ashamed by. I'm also not going to sit here and say any empty assurances that it's just doubt and you'll get through it, because I know what it feels like to be so deeply devoured by the sense of wanting to give up. What I am going to do is recommend you keep all those pieces, even if it's just to yourself. They're little time capsules, little facets of you at different periods in time. They're different things you're feeling, experiencing, thinking, all sown into innocuous little fragments of writing. I see and remember aspects of my past selves I'd long forgotten more clearly in a ficlet than I do in some photos my family took. Sometimes they're hidden little gems I learn from, eeeeeven if they occasionally make me wince.

And also yeah. Don't give up the hope that you are improving, that your writing has meaning, that you're connecting with others who enjoy what you make, that your growth is being tracked by people who can see it much clearer than you can and appreciate and encourage it. There is value. Don't give up on seeing that all your writing has value, all of it. Don't give up that hope. But don't think of it as a passive, gentle little thing that flickers here and there in the dark moments.

It's defiance, like that bulldog.

#idk if this will help the friends who inspired me to make the post for 'em but if it helps even 1 person a little then mission accomplished #might blaze this later in the event someone outside my ring of friends and mutuals needs to hear it #writer's life #fic author struggles #creative struggles #support and encouragement #writing #writer's block #LIKE A BULLDOG #GET THAT STEAK MOTHERFUCKER #not sure what else to tag this #Cyanide speaks

[bardicbeetle]

character rambles - Isaac Raes

Isaac Raes definitely has a self preservation instinct.

Definitely.

Probably.

Raised by his father alone (his parents had a college fling, his mother gave up full custody and he’s met her only a handful of times) while bouncing between Vermont and Connecticut, Isaac’s world has always been fairly small. His father, his uncle, his grandmother. A handful of scattered cousins seen only every other year. Thomas and Carrie have been his best friends since kindergarten and that isn’t likely to change anytime soon.

All of that is fairly normal and easy until the year he turns nine.

When he is nine, he watches his father die. In the dirt basement in his grandmother’s house in Enfield, CT.

Isaac Raes watches a little girl—she’s seven—she’s thirty-nine—rip into his father’s throat while throwing herself at him. Stands there covered in old blood and listening to the gurgling death rattle from the body on the floor that up until ten seconds ago was his dad.

And then he watches his uncle decapitate the thing that is not a little girl with a wood axe.

And everything goes wrong after that.

The Isaac who comes back from Enfield is not the same one who left. He’s homeschooled by his uncle for the rest of elementary and middle school (can you call it homeschooling if most of it is combat training?) [he finds a CD schooling program himself and runs through every grade from 4th to 8th] {luckily Vermont’s guidelines for homeschooling are very lax}, before finally returning to public school at age 14. He’s quieter, he’s more withdrawn, he is an anxiety ridden mess who vanishes at the slightest hint of conflict. Except when he doesn’t. When he doesn’t there is trouble and blood but most of the time he vanishes, so it doesn’t become too much of a problem.

Very quickly his friendship with Tom and Carrie rekindles until they are the two people keeping him grounded in now. He and Tom date on and off throughout high school, eventually breaking things off in senior year but it’s less of a break up and more of a soft return to friendship. The three of them are nearly inseparable all through to graduation—at least up until Carrie leaves for nursing school and she and Isaac have to very firmly remind Tom he gets woozy at the idea of blood and that he cannot follow her there. So he ends up in a culinary program led by a local bakery (Which he ends up managing after a handful of years).

By the time high school is over, Isaac is just about the only one running his uncle’s store: Lamplight Books. He doesn’t mind at first, his uncle makes most of his money as a distribution point for other local bookstores around the state and their customer base is small—if dedicated. The hours have always been funny, but it suits them being open late when they are a stone’s throw from the Church Street Marketplace and there is always evening foot traffic. He doesn’t mind. His uncle needs him.

Isaac Raes would really like to get the fuck out of this state.

He’d like to go to college.

He’d like to see a little more of the world.

By the time he is 22 he has convinced himself that much of what he experienced as a child is some sort of fever dream. That yes, something bad must have happened, but whatever his 9 year old brain conjured up to cover it was not the truth.

It’s not as though his uncle ever talks about it.

There’s no reason for him to think anything else.

Until Alex Blackwood walks into his store and leaves him for dead.

And that should be the end of it.

They show up the next night and he takes his chance and stakes them.

Right?

He absolutely does not spend the next few months giving them thermoses full of his own blood—begrudgingly removed from his body by Carrie—and trying to convince himself that he’s doing this to save them. He’s doing this to save them. He—

Isaac Raes definitely has a self preservation instinct. And a functioning survival instinct.

They just aren’t going to stop him.

@cjjameswriting / @falling-rivers / @maabonwrites / @blve0 / @inexorableblob / @blueberrypoptart / @betwixtofficial / @drowsy-quill / @ezwriting / @ofinscriptions / @vaguelyhumanekid / @meatandboneasmr / @h-faith-marr-writeblr / @necros-writings / @poetinprose / @flyingbananasaur / @oldestenemy / @multi-lefaiye / @dotr-rose-love / @abalonetea / @albatris / @incandescent-creativity / @kaiusvnoir / @vampireposter

#writeblr #writeblr community #vampire writeblr #amwriting #writers on tumblr #lsdente #safe in the dark #sitd #screaming about sitd #character ref ir

[triskhellion]

20 Questions for fic writers

Tagged by @dear-massacre

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Twenty-one. Twenty fics and one weird standalone soundtrack, lol.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

195,750.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Teen Wolf so far, but I maybe I'll get around to some ideas I have for The Sandman or something else one day.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Thunder (Sterek. 12.1k. Explicit. Depressed loner Derek meets on-the-run Werefox/Kitsune Stiles in rural Montana.)

The Cold Moon (Sterek, 40.6k. Explicit. Part one of a story where Stiles is forced across a mysterious boundary by Hunters and encounters a semi-feral Alpha Derek. My first published fic.)

Second Chance Strays (Sterek, 8.5k. Explicit. Mage Stiles, Derek, & Larem the deer alone in the wilderness. A Fuck or Die situation ensues when a darach attacks.)

CLAIM! (Sterek, 11.9k, Explicit. Misunderstandings and making up after Derek & Stiles meet at Jungle and hook-up.)

Customer Service (Sterek, 10.9k. Explicit. Surly barista omega Derek and human college student Stiles. Banter, vulgar latte art, and heat sex. Dominant Derek, Service Top Stiles.)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Sometimes it takes a while, but comments are appreciated and I know I like getting responses.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I guess Amīca (Derissa) because it's an unresolved pre-relationship fic that's meant to be the first In a series. I've been a happy ending gal, so no real angsty ones so far. The angst is in the beginning and/or middle!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The rest of them? 😂

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't yet. Knocks on wood.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. Most of my fics have smut at some point, lol. Or belong to series that do/will.

Um, barebacking and creampie/breeding. Cum eating or play and marking in general, including hickeys and biting.

Virgin/first time bottoming, praise kink, light degradation, and knotting are also in a number of stories. Some spanking, bondage and pinning, and generally low-key dominance and submission. Chasing and claiming and a few omegaverse or just self-lubrication. (I have plans for more.)

All M/M or M/M/M so far, but I have WIPs and notes with other combinations. I have a bunch of Kinktober bits from 2022 to turn into fics that I'm both nervous and excited about. And lots of other ideas too.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not yet, but I have a summary for a Sterek Teen Wolf/The Sandman crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. Sounds both fun and kinda scary.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Sterek is what finally got me into fanfiction and the whole shipping fandom thing a few years ago, so I gotta go with them. I enjoy a bunch of others from Teen Wolf too (especially Steter, Stetopher, and Sterek + various people) and from other fandoms.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I currently intend to finish all my WIPs, but who knows what the future will hold. I have 3 posted WIPs that I definitely plan to complete: The Wolf Moon, The Depths, and 15 Shades of Red. I have dozens of unposted ones that I also hope to finish...eventually.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Apparently dialogue, world building, characters' inner thoughts, and being funny sometimes. Coming up with ideas.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Epithets. It's just tricky when the characters have the same pronouns and I hate writing their names over and over. (I don't mind when other people do it though, so 🤷🏽‍♀️. But then I'll be like, "I can't say Derek three times in this paragraph!")

I've started looking for ones to remove whenever I edit now (and I'm cringing thinking about earlier stories that I should re-edit at some point,) but I still use some and am self-conscious about it.

Also, sometimes I info dump, but that doesn't bother me so much. Boom, here's a bunch of background now let's get on with it, lol.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've used a few words in Polish here and there in some stories, but I probably wouldn't try to write whole conversations in another language unless I was familiar with it or could ask someone about it.

There's some Patois/Patwah in Irie, which was interesting to write because there's no one set spelling of many words, so it was part looking at common ones and part "What did it sound like/how was it phrased when this relative or family friend said something like this?"

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I vaguely recall thinking up scenes, dialogue, background, etc, for a story with Byakuya Kuchiki/Shūhei Hisagi from Bleach approximately 5 billion years ago when I was a teenager, but I don't remember if I ever actually wrote anything. Definitely didn't finish or publish anything. So...Teen Wolf.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Hmm. I can't say that I have a favorite. I only started actually writing from my list of fic ideas around 16 months ago, IIRC. Maybe if I look back on them all after enough time passes I'll be able to pick one out (though knowing me...still probably not,) but right now they're all just...floating around in my head and also mixed with the particular experiences of writing them, idk.

Here's a recent one that was fun to write:

Legs (Sterek, 4.3k. Explicit. Snark and smut after college students Derek and Werecreature Stiles cross paths at the mall.)

If you want to play along, tag, you're it!

#I've had this partially done for over 2.5 months lol #so I've had to make some changes a few times #Thunder juuuust edged out The Cold Moon in kudos *yesterday* #20 questions #20 questions for fic writers #trisk #sterek #derissa

[baradorable]

Name: Rift (Raymond Cruz) Age: Thirties Gender: Male Species: Human (Mutant) Occupation: Freelancer/Mercenary Allegiance: Krakoa (Former), Orchis (Former)

Art done by GeckoBara

This is my X-Men OC. Rift, AKA Raymond Cruz, is a mutant with the power to create portals. His abilities have made him a top asset for many groups. 

Personality

Rift is the "love 'em and leave 'em" type. Since he can always just use portals to leave any situation he wants, he's quick to ditch relationships and situations when things hit a rough patch. He does that with most situations, really. He's a mercenary, though he won't do anything he deems too evil, like kidnapping or murder. He's still willing to commit other crimes if they pay well. And given how useful his powers are, he makes sure to charge a lot for his services.

He's smart, charismatic, and able to analyze situations well. He's strategic. Which makes him dangerous. He has a competitive side, which can sometimes slip out on the field. If you're able to get him in the right mindset, you can get him to forget his carefully-crafted plans and possibly mess up.

Because he invested a lot of time in developing his powers, he's come up with a lot of strategies to fully exploit them. He knows his limits and potential well. He takes pride in his abilities and the need people have for them. So he gets jealous interacting with someone more powerful than him. His worst trait is that he'll try to one-up these people. In extreme cases, he might even try to sabotage them to bring them down. He's backstabbed some of his fellow mercs to ensure he comes out on top.

Part of this is a desire to be liked. He grew up in a very anti-mutant world, so he's used to being disliked for who he is. He secretly craves validation. Since he abandons people quickly, he struggles to form strong bonds. On the rare occasions he finds a serious relationship with someone, his jealousy and competitive often lead him to sabotaging anyone he sees as a threat to the relationship.

When he’s off-duty and walking around in his normal life, he takes on the persona of a shallow himbo.  He speaks in a flighty tone, seemingly misses big social cues, and freely speaks his mind in a way that can inadvertently hurt someone's feelings. He's cultivated the image of a in idiot for his own gain. It's a persona that allows him to have fun and avoid showing his true self; someone who strives to be perfect and beloved. After all, it hurts when people reject the real you. But if they reject the mask you put on - the act that doesn't represent the real you - then there's no harm done.

TL;DR: He's smart and hot. He's flaky and possessive. But he's hot, so it's okay. He's a good guy. He's just not a nice guy.

Backstory

Rift is American. His mother immigrated from Ireland in the mid or late '80's. His dad was born in America, but I haven't decided where his family is from. I'm thinking Portuguese, just for some self-indulgence. But also because Marvel doesn't have any Portuguese heroes at the moment.

His powers activated when he was 14, and he would spend the next several years working on developing his powers. He'd frequently ditch school or home, due to anti-mutant sentiment held by the people around him. He ended up developing some prejudices towards humans.

He ended up making a business out of transporting people around. Think Uber, but faster and with more range. Once word of his powers got around, various organizations began to seek him out. Rift would eventually parlay into full freelance mercenary and spy work.

Here's my idea of how he fits into the Marvel universe. You can ignore this if you don’t follow X-Men continuity.

He was one of the mutants depowered by M-Day, but came to Krakoa and got resurrected to get this powers back. His natural prejudice towards humans made him predisposed to liking the nation, and he was willing to lend his services to X-Force in order to help mutants.

However, the Five were very hesitant to remove his secondary, eye-based mutation; one he always kept hidden out of resentment and disgust. Many other mutants insisted the should keep his extra eyes and take pride in being different. Empty platitudes that he found patronizing. So he left and continued his work as a freelancer.

He ended up coming across Orchis, who would hire him on to spy on Krakoans and allow them to move around the world without notice. Orchis is an organization made up of people from several groups (S.H.I.E.L.D., A.I.M., HYDRA, etc.) to deal with the threat of humans becoming extinct and supplanted by mutants. 

While he knew they were anti-mutant, He was unaware just how anti-mutant they actually are. They paid well, so he could stand to put up with them if he got something out of it. And it put him in conflict with other mutants, so he'd always have the opportunity to test his powers. 

Of course, come Fall of X, they inevitably betrayed him and every other mutant. He was on a mission to Arakko during the third Hellfire Gala, thus avoiding most of the chaos. Once he heard about how Orchis attacked Krakoa, he fled to deep space and stayed there for a few months.

After Fall of X, he returned to Earth. He hated humans even more after they supported Orchis’ anti-mutant tactics. But he also hated the X-Men, since they and the leaders of Krakoa let the only sanctuary for mutants fall.

Job

He's a "freelancer" (read: mercenary) who works with various groups. His official codename is Rift, but for various business-related reasons, he's also known by several aliases: Bluebird, Luscinia, Luzon, Cardinal, Ripple, and Thrush.

He'll use a different name to obscure his identity, or know what kind of group is hiring him. For example, one criminal organization calls him Cardinal. Anyone who calls him by that name is likely associated with that organization. The NYPD know him as Luscinia.

He has different ways for people to contact him, and the type of name they use for him tells him what kind of work they have in mind, or who's hiring him. The goal is to keep everything separate, & being able to filter what kind of job he chooses to accept. (It's actually a lot more complex than having different phone numbers, but I'm giving you the simplified take.)

He doesn't kill, and he avoids directly harming innocent people. Spying, stealing information and theft are okay though.

Portal Power

Rift’s main power is to create portals, which he uses to spy on others, transport people, smuggle things, or create diversions. He rarely fights people directly; instead, he uses his powers to mess with the field. When creating a portal, one will open up close to him, and will connect to a portal that will appear at his desired location. His range is about 15,000 km. He can't access other dimensions through his power, but he can teleport around a dimension he's currently in.

His powers require him to see a location in front of him, or to have been there before. Otherwise, his powers "guess" the location, and open a portal to a completely random location on the planet, usually within two thousand miles of his current location. His power is also location-based, not person-based; he can't specifically try to find a person unless he knows their exact location. So no thinking of Spider-Man and trying to catch him at home.

These portals, once opened, can exist independently of Rift. He usually wills them to close instantly after he uses them, and can choose for how long they remain open Otherwise, they close after about two minutes, regardless if they're used. The portals can be any size, as long as they fall under 24 feet in diameter; they can't grow beyond that to accommodate travel for larger opens or things. There are no limits as to how many people can go through.

The number of portals active depend on their size. So he can create a lot of small, hand-sized portals at once, but only two 12 foot portals. Distance has no affect on his ability to make portals, though firing off too many portals in rapid succession will tire him out.

A cool side-effect of his portals is they won't bring anyone to a place that's impossible to visit. You can't be brought to the inside of a solid object, or in an area too small for one to logically fit. The powers can drop you into the ocean, but they won't place you inside a whale or trap you halfway through a statue. Because of this limitation, Rift can't open up a portal inside your guts, or force you through a portal into a chest at the bottom of the sea.

Other Notable Techniques

Moo-neuver: He opens a portal and lets stampeding cattle run over his opponents.

Torrent: Opens a portal to somewhere in the ocean, shooting forth a torrent of water at a target.

Smokescreen: By opening a portal above a factory chimney, he blasts his opponent with smoke.

Perfect Aim: If he has a firearm, he can open up one portal at the top of his gun, and and another in front of the target. By sending the projectile through the portal, he’s almost guaranteed to hit his target and avoid anything getting in the crossfire.

Black Hole: A theory, one he hasn’t tested out. What happens if you open a portal inside another portal? Or if two portals open into each other? Can two locations exist in the same place, at the same time? This results in neutron degeneracy pressure, where the rifts collapse in on each other to create a black hole. 

Scatter Slap: A secret technique he hasn’t discovered yet. He can touch something and open up countless tiny portals on a molecular level, getting in-between a person’s molecules/atoms/whatever the hell. This would let him instantly scatter someone or something across the world with his powers. Instant vaporization.

Secondary Mutation

He has another mutation: red eyes that grow on his arms. They're basically like tattoos, but become actual eyes when exposed to enough direct sunlight. The more sunlight his body gets, the more eyes appear. His skin will also turn red, and the eyes on his face will turn red, and gain black sclera. They can blink and look around independently, but he currently has no control over them, nor can he see through them.  Without sunlight, he begins to revert to his usual state. 

He's ashamed of this mutation, so he always covers up. 

He doesn't know it, but should he let his second mutation run its course, he'll be able to see from all of these eyes at once. If someone makes eye contact with them, the eyes can temporarily "steal" their sight, giving Rift the ability to see through that person's eyes. Meanwhile, that person now sees from one of the eyes on Rift's body. It's a very disorienting power.

His primary power is about escaping and providing his own personal freedom. His secondary power is about trapping others and taking things away from them. I feel like it's a good metaphor for his personality: he's flexible and living his best life, but has a sinister, controlling side that even he isn't fully aware of.

Trivia

Time for some fun

He’s bisexual. He leans more towards women, romantically. He leans towards men, sexually.

Claims to be a top, since one-upping and dominating others is his thing. But he’s actually verse top.

Has used his powers during sex.

He’s definitely a dom in bed. Very kinky, very in control. But sometimes, with the right partner, he’s can turn into the biggest sub you can imagine.

He used to have casual sex with a human friend who admired his eye-based mutation. That something Rift hated about himself was beautiful to him. This friend took Mothervine to try and force a mutation in himself, but would end up dying from the result. As he was dying, Rift broke him out of the hospital so they could spend their final moments at their favorite beach.  

Expert frotter.

He’s a quarter fairy. He has the potential to learn magic, but doesn’t know it. I like to imagine this magic would let him access Otherworld, or other dimensions.

#barannoying

[wavy-gorl]

did not realize there was a community for this, but this is the internet i should've known

hi i was born with a cleft soft and hard palate, i didn't have a cleft lip or anything else (still tagging this because i wanna reach anyone who understands), my mom told me that i also have the thing where you have a really small chin combined with a cleft palate but i don't remember the name of the condition

i've like literally never been able to talk to anyone else who's had one and i mean my friends all know about it and i love them, but like they don't fully understand bc they haven't experienced it, you know how it is

but uh yeah i've always felt really weird labeling myself as like disabled or anything like that because i've always felt like my cleft palate wasn't enough but honestly my entire life has kinda revolved around it so i feel like i should

here's the part where i'm going to dump in a list all of my super specific experiences in hopes that someone will relate because i am so serious when i say that i've never talked to someone who relates before:

tw: idk medical stuff, ed mentioned (arfid specifically), mildly graphic i guess (just complaining about medical stuff i've had to deal with)

i've had 11 surgeries (feeding tube, adenoids removed, palate repairs, and ear tubes)

i have this sick as fuck second belly button and honestly sometimes i forget that most people only have one and i have to do a double take when i see other people's boring abdomens

i have a list of foods that i cannot eat because they taste like general anesthesia (including but not limited to: whoppers, onion rings, cranberry juice, blue candy hearts, and wintergreen life savers)

i was diagnosed with arfid recently, but i've had it my entire life because i had a feeding tube for the first year of my life and so i just cannot handle most food textures

i have really bad social skills and low self-esteem because i got bullied when i was younger because people couldn't understand me because my voice was really weird, this got better with surgeries but it didn't fix my lack of social skills

I HATED SPEECH THERAPY, like 14 years of it did not make s sounds easier to pronounce

i need hearing aids but i can't get them because i have holes in my ears and extreme drainage, but the holes are good because they allow my ears to drain but the fact that there's drainage is still bad and ahhhhhh

i'm 19 but i still have to go back and forth between the children's hospital and the regular one when it comes to palate stuff and it's honestly annoying sometimes (everyone's nice though so it's fine)

eating is awful because nose stuff i don't want to go into detail but iykyk (don't make me laugh while eating)

i don't have a uvula and when people find out, it's suddenly the most interesting fact they know about me and i don't get it

not even i know my full medical history it is so incredibly complex

i have a collection of my wristbands

the worst fucking thing in the world was the stupid nasal endoscopy, like early covid brain-poking tests were fucking nothing compared to that stupid camera going up my nose

mouth breathing

i have random vocal/breathing tics (i guess tic is the right term?) and they are annoying but yeah

every goddamn time i went to the orthodontist, he would always say every FUCKING TIME "don't let your mom tell you that you have a big mouth because i'm here to tell you otherwise" LIKE I GET IT

when i got my teeth pulled, the laughing gas didn't work because 1.) that shit's so weak and 2.) i had to breathe it in through my nose exclusively (mouth breathing point), but they didn't believe me and went along with the procedure anyway and after experiencing that, hell has nothing on me

my role model growing up was lentil bean, the cleft palate dog

the only piece of media i ever related to was Wonder, but even that one contributed to me feeling like i hadn't gone through enough to consider my cleft palate a big deal

i am a musician (singer and percussionist) but i can't breathe, hear, or speak properly and so i bet you can imagine how hellish that is

i had to quit dance when i was younger because i kept missing entire seasons because of my surgeries (since recovery was like 4 weeks sometimes) and i really wish that i didn't have to

ok yeah that's all i can think of please someone relate to me god please

#cleft palate #cleft lip #craniofacial #cleft chin #cleft palate and lip #fuck i don't know how to tag this #please someone see this #like i swear i am trying to tag the shit out of this so that literally anyone can get me

[vibratingskull]

Imperial secrets

Part1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

Tags : mention of cheating, reconciliation

FemaleReader x Thrawn

You decide to take matters in your own hands and discuss your fiance with someone who might know him for longer times

You wait at the dinner, hiding under your hoodie and some sunglasses. You twirl your straw in your drink, awaiting. You side eye the dinner, you know some of your friends come and work here, you’d rather not be seen. But that’s where she chose to see you. You sigh and slouch in your seat, is it reasonable? You wonder. You don’t know what Arzel said to them, but all your friends stopped talking and texting you for some day now. You didn’t realize you would lose so much by getting on his bad side…

"Lieutenant commander (y/l/n)?" A woman appears at your side, in a black trench coat complimenting her black hair and green eyes. 

You rise up in a jump. 

"Yes! It's me, Captain Hugtan." 

She sat down in front of you, without removing her coat. She looks at you with piercing inquisitive eyes. You always thought she was beautiful, she is even more that close. She could still model for the Empire posters, like before. Your cheeks fluster as your old crush comes acting up again.

"So?" She ask impatiently 

"Yes. I wanted to ask you about Nather Satlove."

She looks ultimately uninterested. 

"And what do you want to know about him ?" 

"You frequent him for longer than me, has he ever appeared… strange to you?" 

"When was he never strange? He's a whole circus by himself." she snarls. Maybe their relationship is not as good as you first thought. "He always has been a self centered prick and if I'm judging by the latest news I heard about him, he didn't change."

You lower your head a little, that sounds like your man. 

"Well" You start. "I'm sure he has some qualities…" 

"Oh, he does! I have an immense respect for his work methods, that doesn't help the fact that he's insufferable."

You pout.

"Okay, has there been a period where he has been especially… Insufferable ?" 

She takes a ciggie out of her pocket, lights it up and takes a deep puff of it. You cough because of the smoke but she doesn't stop. 

"Well, you realize I can't disclose information about a respected Governor of the Empire to you like that."

"I'm his fiance" You retorted. 

She looks at you dubious. You decide to show her some pics of Arzel and you together. You're a bit annoyed having to display your private life like that, but you swallow your pride. She looks at them with a raised eyebrow, and gives you back your community with a grin.

“I see every taste is in nature…”

“We’ll talk about my taste another time.” You respond, losing patience “What can you tell me about him?”

She stares into space for a moment, surely gathering her memories. 

“We did our study together at the Academy, even though I was two years ahead of him. As far as I can remember he has always as been a free spirit, with a talent to gather people around him. He regularly spoke about the treatment of the aliens, which had the effect of enraging the teachers and some students. But what can I say? A solar personality and an influential family can melt any ice, and he was popular, except for one other thing…” She takes another puff of her cig. “He was a fucking classist.”

You look at her in surprise. You already knew he had a military education and he used to go to the Academy, but you didn’t suspect this aspect of him. You let her continue.

“Despite being his elder I was a victim of his scorn and disdain because I came from the working class, with other students. He finally showed some respect when some of us graduated.” She pouts.

You don’t feel rancor in her speech, only a profound lassitude. You sip on your drink, all ears.

“For him we didn’t have our place in this elite space and only the ones overcoming the odds deserved his respect.”

Now that you think of it, he never lingered too much in your former neighborhood and speaks to a restricted number of people in church.

“We lost sight of each other when his family “introduced“ him officially to this weird church…” She continues.

“His family?” You're surprised, a bit disappointed even “He never speaks to me of his family…”

She tuts, clearly unsympathetic.

“Well they're all in this weird cult. It’s a family thing apparently, if I remember correctly it’s one of his grandmas that started it with some other illuminated priests.”

“Belegs.” You correct her with anger lingering in the tone.

She squints at you and sneers.

“Of course, you’re part of it.”

“You have a problem with that maybe?”

“No, absolutely not. It’s just another proof that birds of a feather flock together.”

You breathe deeply through your nose. Keep calm, you think, she’s a superior…

“Either way, it appears he selectively chooses his friends after that, and would you look at that : they all come from his circle, except for those who overcame the odds, with whom he looks like he has a weird adoration thing.” She takes a puff.

You keep silent, digesting what you just heard. She looks at you with what you think is pity melt with amusement.

“Oh don’t be sour, if he didn’t tell you about all that it’s because he thought you weren’t ready.”

You snarl at that comment, you hope it’s not that.

“That, or he doesn’t actually trust you…”

Your eyes widen, Eli’s kiss flashing in your mind. You quickly chase this thought, don’t think about it…

“Say, it’s not that I’m bored but I hope you didn’t bother me just for heart reasons.” She throws.

“In fact not.” You respond, straightening your back and with a hard gaze. “Tell me everything you know about the Rear Admiral Marttilf…”

________________________________________________________________

You're curled up over yourself, completely entranced by your screen. It's the only light in your chamber, reflecting on your face and walls. You corroborate all the data you have with the new ones recently obtained, and more importantly the ones about Martlif.

The Empire is losing slaves, or assets as Thrawn would have said. Either way, the Empire is losing precious resources and you’re sure Martlifs is part of that problem, accomplice of those pirates that you chased after for so long and the underworld of Tyrahnn. 

You compile everything on a data card and decide to head toward the ISB. You take your airspeeder and fly at full speed on the streets of Coruscant, your mind wandering just as quick. The recent events shined a light on some truths about your situation and yourself. Losing Azrel is losing his love, your friend group, your home, your moral support, stability… And it is too much at once. Your whole life would be in ruins, so you had to take the next logical step : presenting excuses.

You stop in front of his office, looking at the window pensively, ready to forgive him all of his slips for a better life. You take a big breath and get in, you have to act like a proper adult from now on you decide, being the bigger person…

As you walk in the hallway you see someone leaving Azrel’s office, someone you didn’t expect.

“Eli…” You say in a breath.

He sees you and his whole face brightens, he embraces you with joy.

“(y/n)! What an unexpected pleasure to meet you!” He laughs “What are you doing here?”

You gulp, all your defenses going down in front of that smile. How can you be mad at that face? You feel yourself melt in front of him, and your heart drops in your stomach. You don’t want to hate him.

“I came to see Azrel.”

“Who?”

“Nather.”

He nods comprehensively. After all that time, anger led to acceptance and confusion. You’re not even sure of what you saw anymore, there was so much steam and they were away from you. After replaying this scene in your mind so many times, the memory got corrupted. Beside you have no proof of what you saw, all you have is some foggy memories of a moment of vulnerability. 

"I thought you were on duty." You manage to say. 

"We'll depart in one month, the Chimaera is in repairs. I just wanted to chat a bit with Nather."

Your heart pinches, you want to believe him, you want to believe Azrel. You want to believe a future is possible for all of you. 

Eli looks at you with tenderness. 

"I'm gonna be honest, at first I didn't like him all that much. But talking to him and his political views, I came to appreciate him." He ruffles his hair with a chuckle, like he didn't want to vex you. 

You nod with a faint smile. 

"Yes, he really feels strongly about some subjects…”

He put his hand on your shoulder.

“He’s a good man. Strange, but fine.” He hits your shoulder lightly and bids you farewell.

Hand on the door handle you look at Eli walking away in the hallway. You shake your head, take a deep breath and enter.

“Azrel?” You ask, passing just your head through the door.

You see him raising his head from his screen at the mention of his name. He recognizes you and raises an eyebrow.

“(Y/n)...” 

You pout. (Y/n) not Roween. He opens his fan in a clac that resonates and hides his face behind it, letting only his eyes visible. You approach with little steps, trying to put a front.

“I came to see how you are since the last two weeks…” You start.

“Good.” He retorts shortly, his eyes following you walking inside his office.

“Good, good.” You pout, licking your teeth trying to continue the conversation.

He slouches on his chair, crossing his legs on his desk, waiting for you to state your true intention.

“I…” You stop and look at the beautiful sunny day through the transparisteel wall behind him, taking inspiration from nature.``I also wanted to present my excuses for what happened last time, I shouldn’t have sold short our principles for a simple date night with a friend, a friend you judge improper for our cause. I just wanted to reassure you that I still firmly believe in it and that I will do what you all judge necessary for it to advance.”

He stares at you in silence. You release a deep breath trying to stay calm in this agonizing moment. Finally he stands up, lowering his fan and shakes his head.

“No. It’s me who should present to you my excuses. I judged harshly someone who thinks differently than me, someone you hold in high regard. I shouldn’t have done that, and I wanna say I am sorry.” He looks at you with a small, pained smile.

You didn’t expect him to say that. You’re pleasantly surprised and taken aback at the same time, you don’t know what to say at first.

“Oh, well… I forgive you.” you whisper.

“So I took the liberty to speak to him.” He continues in a joyful tone that takes you off guard.”Him and his aid. Fascinating duo, those two! They will surely go far!”

“Huh… Yes?” Your eyes open wide at his speechify cheerfulness.

“Besides, that’s not because they aren’t part of the church that they can’t help. Take the Admiral, only by succeeding as he does in his career he contradicts all those pesky cliches about aliens, and therefore helps us in a way!” He walks beside you, with grand theatrical gestures “Really a fascinating man, I understand now why you hold him in such high regard. His aid too, really intelligent. He just told me ten minutes ago that he envisioned himself as a supply officer at first. Can you imagine? What a waste of his talents!”

Hearing him complimenting Eli makes your heart pinches once again and the kiss flashes in your mind. You hug yourself.

“You seem like you appreciate him really much…”

“I do. He’s even interested in the church and what we believe! It would be marvelous if we three could all go to the temple together at some point!”

“Surely…”

“But like you, his career takes all his time. It’s a good thing that this Thrawn is your superior after all, his aura and his victories could shine upon you and propel your career!”

You grimace at that and the word of Hugtan comes to your mind.

“Say, it’s not the first time you speak about propelling my career. You already talked about it at the Opera back then. Are you…” You gulp, is it why he looks interested in Eli? “Are you ashamed of me, in some way?”

He stops in his movement and considers you like you just spit in his face.

“What kind of idea is that?” he asks, horrified.

“Nothing. It’s just that it looks like you're dissatisfied with the speed of my career. I know it slowed down tremendously. That I would look bad at your arms just being a low lieutenant commander…”

He almost runs to you and caresses your cheek, forcing you to look at him. You only see a bit of pain and sympathy in his eyes.

“Do I need a reason to use my influence to positively push the career of the woman who shares my life? Especially if she deserves it?”

You pout, feeling a bit bad now.

“Probably not.”

He looks at you with a light smile and strokes your cheeks with his thumb.

“All is forgiven?” he inquires full of hope.

“All is forgiven.” You nod.

You embrace each other and you sigh of contempt that everything is back in place. But deep down, buried deep in your mind a light flickers in bright red. You snuggle against him, debating if you should ask…

You throw yourself in waters

“Azrel?”

“Hmmmm?” He hums, caressing your hair.

“Do you consider our relationship seriously?”

His hand stops caressing you, remaining at the top of your head.

“Why?” He’s rigid under your touch.

“Did you..” You part with him to look him in the eyes

Did you kiss Eli, is what you want to ask, but you’re at a loss for words. Maybe if you don’t know you could cover it and pretend nothing happened? You try to sound his gaze but you only see confidence.

“Why did you never present your parents to me?”

His shoulders lower. 

“You never even told me one of your family members is part of the founders of the church.”

He pouts.

“Who told you that?”

“It’s not important.”

He sighs.

“Well, I wanted it to be a surprise.” He admits. “I wanted them to see you at the feast I told you about, since it will be a gathering of all the upper crust of the church of all planets.”

“But why not before?”

“They are really busy people that rarely leave Tyrahnn. But I promise you I planned this for a long time.” He kisses your forehead.

This will have to do. 

“Can I steal you for dinner at the restaurant?” He asks, all cheerful.

“I’m sorry but I have to go to the ISB quarter. I have something to give them.”

“Oh!” He raises an eyebrow “What that might be?” He demands with a conspiratory tone.

“If I’m not mistaken, the solution to your pirate problem, around Tyrahn.”  You show him the datacard “But I need an in-depth investigation to gather real proof.”

A smirk slices his face and a light shines in his gaze.

“Would you look at that? Everything works out in my favor today, I secure a deal with an important import company back home, I get you back, and you bring me the solution to my  problem.” He open his hand for you to give him the card. “Give it to me, I will give it after my shift.”

You hand it to him at first, then decide otherwise.

“No, sorry. I will give them now. The sooner, the merrier.” You put back the card in your pocket, his hand keeps open an oddly long second before getting back to his side, his smile disapearing.

You decide to leave but before that, you have a vengeance to execute. A vengeance for those two weeks of solitude and isolation.

“Say, what do you think about giving the church fundraising initiative to the lower neighborhood where the poor need it the most?” You ask innocently.

“Sure, we will give the check to a brother or sister that will lend them it.” He smiles.

“No, I meant giving the check ourselves.” 

His smile remains, but you see his eye twitch. Touche!

“You want us… To go… there?” He demands, incredulous.

You play with his collar with puppy eyes.

“Please. It would be a good action to celebrate us making up.” You coo.

He throws his head back with a sigh.

“Okay, Roween… But that’s because you asked for it.” He reluctantly gave in.

You kiss him on the cheek, smiling and wave him goodbye. You exit the building relieved, but with an unknown bitter taste in your mouth. It’s at this moment that your comlink vibrates, it’s Thrawn. 

“Hello, sir.” You salute gleefully

“Hello, lieutenant commander (y/l/n). I hope I do not bother you.”

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“I need you for a service. I would like you to observe Admiral Konstantine and report to me your discoveries.”

You enter your airspeeder and put your hand on the wheel, disturbed.

“You want me to spy him?” You inquire dubious.

“It would prove most useful to me.” 

“I… Can I know why?”

He remains silent for a second.

“I need intel on my different colleagues. I can only ask that to my most trustworthy comrades.”

Those words resonate in the airspeeder. My most trustworthy comrade…

“Alright.” You sigh. “I accept.” A lightning flash in your mind. “Wait, should we really speak about that on our comlinks?”

“I am scrambling the signals, do not worry.”

“Ah.” You lean in your seat. “Do you need anything else?”

Once again he remains silent for a moment.

“I appreciated our evening at the gallery the other night. We should do that more often.”

It feels like your heart beats faster at the mention of the date. He liked it, he wants to see me again, your mind whispers. A chance Azrel gave you his blessing.

“Sure! Whenever you want.”

“Why not next week? There is something I need help with, I could use the presence of a friend. Let us meet at the Chimaera at dockyard seven.” 

You note it 

“Dockyard seven, noted.”

“If I can do something in compensation, let me know.”

“Well… Do you know anyone at the ISB? I need an investigation pronto.”

@bluechiss @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @twilekchiss

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth’raw’nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

[grumpygreenwitch]

Fanfiction 1-2-3

I wrote some more.

I have a guilty pleasure read (one of so, so many). In this case it's Nalini Singh's Guild Hunter books. I recommend them if you like urban fantasy heteroromance with a touch of smut. They are fun, they are quick, and within the constraints of working for one of the big publishers, she tells a fantastic story. They've got the usual problems of heteroromance, but I don't read them expecting to solve the problems of the world. They pass a night well enough, and that's all I ask.

This is fanfiction for that world because there's always been one glaring problem with the world she created, and it's always jarred me, violently, every time it comes up in the books. There's a little under 30 chapters, it's already finished, and it will be going up here, on Pillowfort, Ko-fi and Ao3. Ao3 might actually get it faster than everyone else. Pillowfort will get it slower, simply because they don't have a queue and me remembering to post things is always dicey. Updates should come once a week.

Well, here we go, I guess. Please remember that reblogs give me life. The main tag is #Alyss and Jean.

Buy me a Ko-fi?

1-2-3 + 4-5 + 6-7-8-9-10 + 11-12 + 13-14 + 15-16 + 17-18-19 + 20-21 + 22-23 + 24-25 + 26-27

1

Alyss had never meant to be anyone important.

Angels, he understood, were the top creatures of the world. They were born to that privilege, they lived in that privilege. It never left their lives. No matter how low an angel might fall, and some did fall very low, they were still apex predators, apex lifeforms. A very, very old vampire might best a very young angel, but why would they risk the terrible destruction that would fall upon them if they did?

But there was wiggle room in that definition, in what was expected of an angel. And for most of his relatively short life Alyss had been of a very firm mind: he was going to be an accountant. This was not the sort of thing he told anyone. Humans were accountants. Vampires were accountants. Angels had other people do their accounting for them. And in truth, he'd learned many other skills throughout his few centuries: he was an excellent illuminator, a passable translator of multiple languages. If it had to do with books, he was good at it. If it had to do with numbers he was even better. But he didn't want to be an illuminator. He didn't want to be an archivist, or a librarian, or a historian.

He wanted. to be. an accountant.

On his second century, after the last of his teachers had given up on him in some specific fields, he'd left the Refuge and finally been allowed to openly do what he'd wanted to do all along. He'd found work in many angelic households and businesses; none that wanted him there permanently, but that was fun in its own way. He got to see so many new places, mingle with so many different people, meet so many of his kind, see how they lived, how they ruled.

Within a few years he was horrified.

Alyss understood, in theory, the process by which vampires were Made and trained. He'd never personally met any; in the Refuge they were distant satellites orbiting around the angels, or Archangels, they served. Until he'd left the Refuge the reality of vampires had been little but writing on a book: the meticulous scheduling needed to remove the build-up of toxins in an angel's body, the complex rules and regulations by which those humans who wished to undergo the vampiric awakening were measured. Hundreds of thousands applied every year. Most were turned away, found wanting or incompatible, though they were never told of the later. In exchange for the many gifts that came with becoming a vampire, they agreed to a hundred years of service to the angel whose choice gave them the chance to be Made. That century was meant to turn a feral creature into a self-willed predator, ruthlessly in control of their new instincts. It was a time for their angel to teach them what they were, who they'd become. To guide them and yes, if need be, to make them fear the ultimate authority of those who had created them, and could destroy them if they did not learn.

Alyss had seen no such teaching. He'd seen torture, lots of that. He'd seen cruelty beyond anything he'd ever imagined, for no reason other than an angel's entertainment. He'd seen the most stalwart hearts shattered, the strongest wills broken. He'd seen new vampires refused the kindness of going through their initial awakening in a medically induced coma, simply because their angel wanted to see them writhe. In Isabel's court he'd seen the angel wake a vampire from such a coma just because she wanted to hear them wail in incomprehending terror while she entertained some close friends for dinner. And that was just for starters; one hundred years was a long time to find out what harm you could do to a person to while the hours away.

It wasn't entirely unfounded, Alyss understood that. After the Cascade, when both the number of angels and archangels had beeen catastrophically low, the vampiric population had risen on a tide of mindless bloodlust. The Guild existed to hunt vampires who ran away from their contract for a good reason: too many vampires, well, ran away from their contract. And in theory the VPA was supposed to advocate for vampires, particularly those most vulnerable.

But after what he'd witnessed Alyss had begun to wonder if some of those vampires didn't run away for a good reason. He saw so much of the bad over the next century that the good seemed distant, faint, and eventually unlikely. It became shocking to him whenever he found an angelic home where the trainees were treated well.

In one of those houses he met Jean. And things kind of spiraled from there.

2

Alyss flew through the early morning light, deeply enjoying the chilly breeze coming from the sea, the sight of New England beneath him a vast landscape cloaked in every color of autumn imaginable. If he'd not been en route to a meet-n-greet he would have gone down just for the guilty pleasure of walking among the trees and kicking up clouds of gold, red and orange leaves.

But he was due at Kliman's house within the hour, and while the breeze was lovely it was also a headwind. He put his head down and pressed himself to further speed. Better to arrive on time and a little breathless than late.

The aerial picture he'd been sent of the estate didn't do it justice. Kliman oversaw New England from Maine but she was a reclusive, elderly angel; her agents did most of the legwork while she remained hidden away in a hundred acres of marsh and woodlands. The house was beautiful, a jewel nestled among wild-seeming gardens. There was a pond shaped like a crescent moon on one side of the manor, gleaming in the sunlight like silver. The autumn-touched woods went on forever, and a vast marshland glittered off to one side.

There was a helipad tucked away on the far side of the property, and a man waiting for him on it. Alyss landed as gracefully as he could while carrying his office in his frontpack, breathing hard. He’d tried traveling backpacks like those of most angels, but his wings were positioned in such a way that most laptop bags just weren’t comfortable.

"Morning wind caught you, did it," the man drawled, his Maine accent dulled not a bit by the many years he'd lived and served his angel.

"Height usually helps," Alyss admitted, wheezing. "Didn't this time."

The man laughed. He was of a height with the angel, which made him short; Alyss didn't quite reach the halfway mark to his sixth foot, though his oversized wings gave him the illusion of height. Kliman's Second was powerfully built, dark brown hair freely peppered with silver; he’d been made late in life. He was wearing comfortable, elegant clothing and two short knives on matching sheaths at his hips, the handles old and worn. His hand, when he offered it, was warm and heavily calloused. "Glad you could make it. I'm Gevaun, the lady's Second."

"Oh." Alyss faltered, as ever he did when he found a vampire that seemed content with their lot in life. Gevaun didn't just look well-adjusted but outright happy, and for a moment the angel didn't know what to do with that. Belatedly he scrabbled to take off a glove and meet the hand with his own. "Sorry. I'm still waiting for the day I won't feel the cold. A pleasure to meet you, Gevaun."

"I'll let the staff know to keep the place warm for you." Amazed, Alyss realized the vampire was teasing him. "Bring all the extra blankets out."

"What a sight I'll make, bundled up with only my eyes peeking out," he replied automatically, and felt an unexpected surge of gladness when Gevaun chuckled in response. The vampire gestured them on and they meandered towards the manor home by way of a winding stone path. "May I ask you why I'm here or should I wait until I'm speaking to Kliman?"

The vampire seemed to think on that far longer than the simple question merited. "You know she's old," he said at last.

"Very. But with the Cascade, it's said there's just no one to replace her if she goes into Sleep."

"Oh, there's plenty. There's none she trusts is the thing," Gevaun replied. "She's done a good thing here. Raphael's never had a reason to worry about New England because she knows the difference between a velvet glove and an iron fist. The others..." The vampire grimaced.

"That's not something an accountant can fix," Alyss pointed out primly.

Gevaun grinned at him. "No. But a good accountant can sniff out which of them's already cheating. She wants to clean house before she even considers looking for a replacement."

"Do you think they're cheating her?"

"Oh, absolutely. Well, barring Evie. But, you know, I'm her Second. I'm expected to be suspicious of everyone, even if I'm the only one."

"You've not met many accountants, have you."

Gevaun was still laughing at that when they reached the house. Alyss was surprised to be led to a bedroom, spacious and colorful, where a vast balcony had been seamlessly added to the wood and stone of the house's architecture; this was a room meant for an angel. He opened a door to an exceptionally modern bathroom, equally set up to accommodate someone with wings. Another door led to a walk-in closet empty except for boxes labeled "Books", "Kitchen", "Clothes" and the like. The last door led to an empty office where he dropped off his bag.

A maid, human, came to get him, peeking in not-so-discreet awe at him. That, at least, was behavior familiar to Alyss; he wasn't much of an angel to his own people, but to humans he was still one of those apex creatures. He was even passingly nice to look at, he often thought, though he knew most of it was his wings: they were amber-colored, some unknown quality of the feathers making them gleam in the right light, the rich hazel going to darkest honey at the tips.

Otherwise Alyss had always thought himself unremarkable. Short. Skinny. Rather than his mother's auburn hair he'd ended up with his father's fine brown curls, and rather than his striking green eyes he'd got his mother's brown gaze. At least he'd not inherited Maura's abundance of freckles. Or Elian's nose.

Compared to himself Kliman was exquisite, and he found himself tongue-tied the moment he saw her. The angel of New England was a porcelain figurine with flawless, pale skin and a long, rich golden braid at her back, between wings where every feather was tipped in various shades of violet and indigo, her eyes of matching hues. She wore clothing as comfortable as her Second's, dark gray slacks and a knit sweater fitted to her wings.

"Ah, the accountant." She beamed at Alyss and offered her hands, and when he would have instinctively bowed over them she instead pulled him into an unexpectedly strong hug. "None of that! Kissing knuckles, really now. This isn't the Dark Ages again, and thank goodness for that." She pulled away and stared at him. "Goodness, you're so young." She sounded a little crestfallen.

Alyss couldn't blame her. Time swam and lingered in the other angel's gaze, and for a moment he felt crushed under the burden she carried. "I assure you, ma'am, I got all my wild-oating out on my second century," he managed, breathless under what little he'd glimpsed of her age.

She burst out laughing in surprise. "Did you?"

"Terrible, I was. There's books still shelved in the wrong place at the Refuge's library. Truly I don't know a worse criminal."

Kliman laughed even more.

They sat and had hot cocoa and warm croissants, and Kliman told him much the same thing Gevaun had said. "I'm old, Alyss. I'm tired. This Cascade has left me hollow. So many dead, such terrible scars on the world. The healing will take decades, centuries. I’ve done my duty by my Archangel, but I’m tired. I don't have the strength for it anymore, I just don't." Gevaun, standing behind her, put a hand on her shoulder and she covered it with one of hers, smiling a little at her Second before facing Alyss again. "I want to Sleep. But after everything that was lost, after everything we fought for, I will not leave my people, my land, my charges, to someone less than worthy. I will see them cared for as I would care for them."

"I'm not the sort to ferret out plots or villains, ma'am," Alyss pointed out nervously. That simple gesture, that moment of unthinking, trusting intimacy between angel and vampire had got him so distracted he'd nearly forgotten what he was there for or what the older angel had just said.

"I know. But you are the sort to hunt down numbers to the last decimal. You can tell me if they're already taking advantage of their position. You can tell me how badly they're abusing the power I've given them. That's all I ask." Her smile turned so sharp that it made Alyss slick his wings back instinctively. "I'll take it from there."

3

Alyss began with Rhode Island. It was small, it was uncomplicated, and Gevaun already had a list of Andrew's pecadillos. "He's a vampire, he was never in the running, and he knew it from the beginning," Kliman's Second told Alyss. "We put him there because it was safe, in every way that matters. If you find anything beyond what we have I'll just go down there, put the fear of God back into him and see that he cuts it down to more reasonable levels." Alyss frowned and Gevaun grinned. "What were you expecting, Alyss?"

"That you'd kill him," the young angel admitted readily.

"Jesus! He's not bad, he's just lazy. Rhode Island's just about what he can handle."

"Yes, but he's cheating you. He's cheating Kliman. You already know this." At a loss for words, Alyss shrugged. "It's what anyone else would do. A few angels would make it linger but the end result's the same."

Gevaun stared at him a long time. "You've been to... a lot of angel homes, haven't you?"

"I've been to enough," the accountant admitted tightly as he set up his laptop. "Enough to know this place is the exception, not the rule."

"Raphael is not unfair. Ruthless, stern, but not unfair. He doesn't like his angels to be unfair either."

"That doesn't seem to stop them."

"Vampires are dangerous, Alyss. I'm one and I can tell you that. I don't trust half my breed half the time, and the other half I'd split fifty-fifty still. We're predators, and blood sings a helluva song. Bloodlust is a very real threat."

"Vampires are predators, yes. I know that. I've seen a great deal of them, I've met a great deal of them, in passing." Alyss put down his tablet a little more forcefully than he'd intended and turned to look at Gevaun. "But humans learned to gentle horses to saddle rather than break them. They learned not to uses whips or fire or hooks on animals for entertainment. You'd think we angels could do better than them with a sentient creature. Except we don't." He drew and let out a deep breath, and realized he was an inch away from blowing up at his employer's Second. He went so profoundly red he felt it like radiant heat, and flailed with his equipment. "Rhode Island first then, got it. On it. Right away."

Gevaun's brows, unseen, went up minutely. So, there was steel to the little goldfinch. Interesting. "Leave you to it," he drawled and walked away, closing the door to the little office soundlessly.

Alyss waited until he was sure he was alone to collapse on his keyboard with a pathetic sound. Ah, yes, just the sort of first impression that got him recommended to others. Well, nothing to it now, he'd just have to let his work impress instead.

If not because Kliman insisted that he take dinner with the household, Alyss would have lost all track of time buried in his work. Ever since he’d been little, when he’d first realized that what went on in his head did not have a spoken form, he’d realized he would have to be his own translator for the rest of his life. Numbers ruled his mind, his dreams, shaped and defined his world. When he was at work numbers danced in his mind's eye, falling into serried, organized rows and columns, order that he brought about. It was a very small sliver of the world, but one he controlled, one he knew, one that did exactly what he told it to do. It was hard to peel himself away and accept that he belonged to a very different reality, but for the angel of New England he did, every night, even as he spend his days working.

The first thing he noticed was that Gevaun was keeping a very good watch on Andrew.

The second was that Kliman's own accounts were not what they should be.

After confirming a fourth time, he threw himself out of the office and onto the balcony, gliding down to one of the paths likely to take him into the woods. He needed air, he needed space, he needed his thoughts to stop harassing him. He hadn't been brought in to audit his boss, for the love of prime numbers! Well, technically he had been, but!

The woods welcomed him with whispering breezes and unexpected torrents of leaves, and Alyss' mood changed almost immediately. He spread his wings and shook them, laughing a little when he realized he couldn't fully dislodge the leaves caught in his feathers. He dragged his shoes through piles of gold and brown, red and orange, gleeful as a child. He found a few wild rose-hips and left a tiny offering of blood on the rose thorns when he picked them and ate them, sweet and tart like little pieces of sunlight made solid.

The thwack of the ax splitting wood nearly made him jump out of his skin. He froze, eyes wide, sucking on his bloody fingertips. When the sound came again he flinched, but it was also reassuring proof that he wasn't hearing things. The third time he straightened up and began to earnestly follow the sound deeper into the woods.

The sound was coming from a clearing where a falling tree had dragged two more of its brethren down with it. It had happened long enough ago that all three trees were dry and dead, prime pickings for firewood. Kliman's manor ran on solar power, but it did have a number of fireplaces that were probably very cozy when they were going. The trees had been cleared of branches, which had been cut into kindling and neatly bundled up on the bed of a small wagon attached to a muddy ATV. The logs had been split into sections at some point, the chips from the chainsaw's work littering the ground beneath them.

There was a man splitting those sections with an ax, and Alyss immediately felt as if he were intruding into someone's privacy.

The man was nothing but muscle. He'd stripped off his jacket and shirt, which were hung on the side slates of the wagon. He was tall, swarthy, what Alyss' mother would have called 'sun-kissed' with an appreciative purr. The thought only served to make Alyss flush, flustered. His hair was short and wavy and very, very dark, and his shoulders were exactly the sort one would expect of someone splitting wood as if it were butter under a hot knife.

Alyss suddenly choked; what he'd thought to be dappled light falling on the man's skin wasn't. It was moving when he moved. It was scar tissue. The lumberjack's back and arms were covered in it, thin lines spread out with sickening regularity and creating a very precise grid all over him.

The man whipped around at the tiny sound, the ax held up like a weapon. Alyss scrabbled back and away, arms coming up to appease. Before he could say anything one of his wings slammed into the tree behind it, and the other ran right into a mass of brambles. "Wait, no, I don't mean -" The rest of whatever excuse he'd been about to offer went out of him in a startled cry of pain.

"Don't move!" The stranger barked, tossing aside the ax and putting his gloved hands out as if to calm a frightened animal. "Don't move, don't move your wings."

Alyss was finding some small measure of reassurance in the ax not being brandished at him, but it was about the only part of the current situation that wasn't worth some panic. "Oh, it hurts!"

"You're caught in a greenbrier. Don't move." The man repeated, his tone low and slow. He had an accent Alyss couldn't place. His face was carved stone, his features stark, lean and austere; there were very dark shadows under his bright green eyes, and he looked starved but calm. He put his hands up. "I'll get you loose but I need my knife."

The silence grew between them. "Alright?" Alyss said uncertainly, not sure why he'd have to be informed of such an obvious thing.

The stranger gave him an unreadable look. He stepped back to the wagon, chucking off one of his heavy gloves, and grabbed a plain leather sheath from one of the jacket's pockets. Slowly, carefully, he approached Alyss and then moved around him, to the tangled-up wing. "You can fold the other one," he said.

His voice was low, the accent giving it a pleasant sort of music that under better circumstances Alyss would have appreciated as much as the man’s looks. "I'm afraid they get on the buddy system when I'm stressed," he admitted. From up close the scars were even more obvious in their methodical, almost mechanical pattern. The man was sweat-sheened, he smelled of his work, of wood and forest... and of the faint, alluring scent of a particular predator.

A vampire.

"Fair."

Alyss saw him gingerly grab something, felt the tug of it against his feathers, and stiffened in anticipation of pain. It didn't come. "What is it? What did you call it?"

"Greenbrier. Tangly sort of vine." The pressure eased in part of Alyss' wing, and the vampire showed him the culprit, a thin green vine covered in spines nothing really ought to need for anything but a nefarious purpose.

"I don't think I needed to see that," Alyss admitted breathlessly, his whole body tightening up again. "But it's good to know what to avoid in the future, I guess."

"If you're in the habit of not staying to the path, that might be wise," the vampire said mildly as he carefully, so carefully, cut the greenbrier off in bits and pieces. Of all the things he'd expected, to find an angel in the middle of the woods hadn't been part of the schedule. He'd planned to spend the day alone, working on the firewood. The silence and the solitude were balm he sorely needed. Instead he was cutting greenbriers off of one of the most delicate-looking angels he'd ever seen, and that included Kliman. The thorns of the greenbrier had ruffled some of the amber-colored feathers, had twisted a few, and the sight wounded him. It had to hurt, but the angel was doing as he'd been told, holding perfectly still, even if by angelic standards the vampire was practically groping him. "You're the accountant."

"Yes. I'm Alyss."

"Hn." The vampire threw aside a massive loop of the spiny vine. "Jean."

"John?"

"Jean," he corrected, grunting when the greenbrier, unsurprisingly, punched right through his glove. He got a better grip and cut another section off the wing.

"Oh, Jean." The angel huffed shakily. "Well, I'm glad to meet you."

"Are you," Jean paused to stare dubiously at him.

"Yes. Very glad actually. Otherwise I'd be stuck here with no one to help me."

"If I wasn't here you wouldn't have had a reason to come looking. Why'd you come, anyway?"

"I heard the ax, I couldn't tell what was going on."

"You've never heard someone chopping wood?"

"Not for a century or so."

"Fair," the vampire admitted after a moment. "Alright, move. Slow. I can't tell if I got it all from this angle."

"So... get behind me?" Alyss suggested blankly.

Jean had to pause and digest that suggestion, so innocently, so trustingly put out there for him. "Would, but there's a tree in the way. It's gonna win whatever fight I start." Alyss made a nervous sound and the vampire leaned back. "Hey. Look at me." When those sweet brown eyes met his gaze he spoke as calmly as he could. "You're alright. Just move slow. If something tightens up, stop."

Alyss closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let it out very, very slowly. He tried to fold his wings -

"Stop." Next to him, Jean dropped to his knees and slipped beneath the wings. Some more greenbrier began to fly off in pieces.

"Thank you for being careful,” Alyss murmured, even though a flush of embarrassment was slowly but surely creeping over his face. “I am not a libertine, I'd like to point out," the accountant said primly, wrapping his arms around himself.

The comment was so outlandish, so out of nowhere, and such a complete betrayal of the angel's current state of mind as well as his efforts to ease it, that Jean barked out a laugh before he realized what he'd done. He had to stop and pull away, leaning back on his knees to look up at that fine-boned face. He could feel the ghost of a grin trying to break free. "Too much action for you?" Jean watched crimson spread over the fair skin, and the angel could only offer a high-pitched, wordless sound in response, covering his face with one hand. "I won't tell, I promise."

"I'm not a virgin, either!" Alyss declared staunchly from behind his hand. Somehow it seemed very important that he declare that, and yet as soon as the words were out he couldn't believe he'd said them.

"Duly noted," was all the vampire said in response. "Alright, try now. Slow." When Alyss managed to pull both wings tight to his back, Jean further instructed, "Lift your wings up. Alright, now step forward, three steps. Ought to put you clear of the greenbriers." When the angel obeyed and was finally both safe and free, Jean rolled smoothly to his feet and moved to the wagon to clean his knife.

"Oh, it itches, it itches, it all itches. Thank you, Jean, but it itches. Please, excuse me."

"Excuse wh-" Before he could finish, Alyss had sprung up. The vampire jerked away and crouched down instinctively; such a take-off was usually a maneuver only seasoned angelic warriors learned or mastered. But Alyss, Jean realized, had an unexpected advantage: his wings were big for his size, larger than those of most angels the vampire had ever seen. He leapt and cupped them and they caught the breeze, effectively parachuting him up and away. Just like that, the accountant was gone. "Anytime," Jean told the empty clearing, and went back to chopping wood.

#fantasy #modern fantasy #urban fantasy #fanfiction #nalini singh #guild hunter #alyss and jean #my writing #angel #vampire #male on male

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #5: The White Princess, but make it GoT

I have a terrible weakness for female!Jon Snow fics - mostly because making the character female gives a fascinating array of opportunities to unite two rival claims to the Iron Throne and all the drama that involves. So what about a fic where the people with the strongest claim to the throne - female!Jon Snow and Robert Baratheon - end up married?

Hear me out:

Much as Elizabeth of York objectively had a better claim to the throne than her husband, Henry VII, a female!Jon Snow (called Joanna from here on out) would have the Targaryen bloodline claim but no chance of getting on the throne herself even if she wasn't presented to the world as her uncle's bastard. Westeros doesn't abide female rulers.

But if you marry her bloodline claim to the man with the next best claim - her second cousin once removed, Robert Baratheon, who's actually got the throne - you have the strongest of any possible claim. One which could make the greatest number of factions happy, if only they knew about it.

But how to make it happen? It's easy to imagine Robert trying to take Joanna to bed, as she resembles her mother a great deal, but how to make it a legal union? I see two options:

One: In the aftermath of the Greyjoy Rebellion, Robert heads north, sees 14 year old Joanna looking the image of his lost love, and pulls out some ancient Targaryen law that lets the king have two wives. No one is particularly thrilled with this idea except for Robert, but he's the king and the most optimistic hope it will turn down his whoring. Or,

Two: In the aftermath of the Greyjoy Rebellion, Robert heads north after Cersei has been found in the act of adultery while he was at war, and seeing Joanna the image of his lost love demands they marry on the spot. No one's particularly happy with this scenario either, but at least it's not bigamy.

Either way, Joanna ends up in Kings Landing as a/the Queen and because Robert is his usual lusty self, winds up with a son in short order. If it Cersei's still in the picture, there's a lot of politicking and worry for her life and that of her child. If Cersei's gone, there's still politicking but with whatever Lannisters remain upset her child is replacing their prince, who they claim is legitimate still.

Sometime while she's still a relatively young bride of 16 or 17, while she's about halfway through her second pregnancy, Robert dies like in the book, and Joanna ends up the regent to her young son, the new king. There's a regency council of course, but she has more power than one might think at first glance.

The truth of her ancestry is never really announced so much as quietly discovered by multiple parties in multiple ways, who quietly go along with it because it suits their needs/politics/etc. Eventually the various parties wonder why everyone else is going along with it too, and after some poking it just sort of... comes out. It doesn't change anything, because inheritance puts her son's claim before her own, but it helps the last of her detractors.

As a side plot, Prince Oberyn comes to Kings Landing to swear Dorne's allegiance to the new king on his brother's behalf and strikes up a flirtation with Joanna. At first that's all it is, especially as she's just about to birth her second child, but they end up forming an odd friendship. Joanna likes Dorne and how they treat their bastards, and Dorne likes her because they think her mother was one of theirs. After 2 or 3 years of this, they marry. It's part political - draws in Dorne, helps make up for Elia's murder, and gives Joanna and her son a loyal defender - and part a love match - they get along and Joanna begrudges Oberyn his paramours no more than she'd begrudged Robert.

That's all I really have, but the idea tickles me. So feel free to borrow it, just link me if you ever do anything with it.

Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall | Queen Mother

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#game of thrones #got #plot bunny #fic ideas #female jon snow #jon snow is a targaryen #robert baratheon #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

[artemis-entreri]

Hello! Just curious, what's the word on Dahlia? Was she really removed off-screen in that short story? (Not that I'd be sad to see her go, but that seems pretty offhand for a previously major character) Thanks.

[[ Hey there, sorry for taking a while to respond, your question is a really good one and I needed to find a chunk of time to address it properly. Cut for spoilers.

Dahlia was indeed removed off-screen in One-Eyed Jax. I wrote a quick overview of it since it was only available in audiobook format, although I'd imagine someone might've transcribed it by now.

In any case, what we know as of the current published story canon is that she's indeed dead, and I agree, it was pretty unceremonious. I liked Dahlia as a character concept, I felt that she was a lot more interesting than Catti-brie, but the flailing that Bob did with her in the Homecoming and Generations trilogies turned me neutral about her. My guess is that Bob did Dahlia off this way because the vast bulk of his biggest fans hate Dahlia with a burning passion, to the extent of feeling that she deserved everything that's ever happened to her, including that particular incident when she was a child that defined so much of her personality.

We never see a body, so of course the contention that whenever we don't see the body the character isn't truly dead has ever been the case with Dahlia's scenario. However, One-Eyed Jax handled her fate with such a note of finality. Artemis just accepts that Dahlia is dead because they found her weapon in someone else's possession and apparently knowing Dahlia would never willingly part with it must mean that the only possibility that it ended up separated from her is that she's dead. Artemis, who is extremely thorough, meticulous, intelligent and circumspect, for some reason doesn't bother to look into what happened to Dahlia, if for no other reason than for his own knowledge.

Things did seem pretty cool between Artemis and Dahlia in Relentless, so perhaps his willingness to accept her supposed fate is due to that. However, that theory also doesn't track. We've seen in the past that Artemis loves intensely and with supreme dedication. In One-Eyed Jax, he goes out of his way to kill the person most likely responsible for Dahlia's fate, including cutting off their head and bringing it back with him. As a man who doesn't waste actions, it's evident that he wouldn't have gone to such lengths if his feelings for Dahlia had indeed cooled.

One-Eyed Jax takes place after Relentless, which ends in 1488 DR. I would estimate that it transpires about a few months after the conclusion of Relentless. The current trilogy picks up in 1490 DR. It's been about two years, which is more than enough time for the past to remain in the past.

I was curious though, and figured since I have the ARC I might as well take a peek, so I searched for "Dahlia". I was surprised to see that there were hits, her name literally didn't come up at all in Starlight Enclave or Glacier's Edge. I figured that, being the end of the trilogy, she's probably mentioned in Lolth's Warrior as part of reflections of the past. This is what I found instead:

Only 14 mentions, but what a whopping 14! From this, I infer that Dahlia is (most likely) alive. Furthermore, with the current story concluding in Lolth's Warrior and Bob not likely giving up his cash cow, the search for Dahlia could be anywhere from a side plot to the main plot of the next trilogy. It would also fit the formula of "uniting all the characters" that's been going on for a while now. Just as Doum'wielle Armgo played a role in kicking off the search for Calidae, perhaps Dahlia is doing the same for the new plot.

This is incredibly artificial though, and inherently self-contradicting with how final Artemis was about Dahlia. Why would he decide TWO YEARS LATER to try to pick up her trail again? He gave up way too easily and uncharacteristically before, so now he suddenly decides that he needs to go the whole nine yards, uphill both ways in the snow? I suspect Bob will give some justification along the lines of, oh his time in Callidae made him see through the power of friendship that he didn't try hard enough for her and that even if they're no longer a couple he still needs to bring her back because she needs to feel and be reformed by the pOWeR oF friENdShiP that turned him totally out of character.

Or who knows, maybe Bob will do the more sensible thing of having one of Dahlia's keepsakes turn up. I'm honestly not sure if this is better though, as it would make the situation that Dahlia's been suffering in captivity for these couple of years while the rest of the cast lackadaisically assumed that she was dead based on minimal evidence. That would mean that none of the shining heroes of the Companions of the Hall thought to be more thorough and were just ok with taking the path of least resistance even while one of their "precious allies" went through proverbial hell.

No matter what happens, Bob will likely say that he intended Dahlia to not be dead all along, if she is indeed alive. 🫠 ]]

#Artemis Entreri #dahlia sin'felle #legend of drizzt #the legend of drizzt #Lolth's Warrior #The Way of the Drow trilogy #ama #ooc

[lostcitysystem]

Sensory overload tips cause I just had sensory overload and after 14 years of dealing with this I know some stuff:

(You probably know all of this but it can be good to keep a reminder in case your brain tends to freeze up during an overload- also everyone is different and this is just what helps me)

Go into a dim or dark room

Remove sound stimuli by turning off phone alerts, putting on noise cancelling headphones/ear defenders and distancing yourself from people talking/music playing

Take off any clothes that may be making you uncomfortable

Take deep, slow breaths, focusing on being calm and lowering your heart rate/brain activity

Try to add some weight to your body by piling on pillows/duvets or using weighted blankets/plushies (if you find it helpful)

Get to your ideal temperature by removing layers or adding them (I prefer the cold so I usually take off clothes and lie on the floor or my bed without the bedding)

Stim if you’d like to, it’s not doing you any harm to get energy out of your body (just be aware of self-harm stims that can aggravate your sensory overload, even if they feel good in the moment)

Engage in special interests- watch your favourite show, hug a plush related to your spin, listen to music related to your spin etc

Drink a glass cold glass of fluid or have a hot drink (if you’d like)

Talk to a trusted friend or loved one, they may be able to help calm you down

Try eating a safe food or chewing some gum, it can be a good stim and will likely calm your nervous system (in more severe sensory overload, food can be overwhelming though)

Stay in this calm space you’ve created for however long you need to, you’re doing really well and there’s no pressure to come out and socialise with others or do anything that could relapse the sensory overload

Finally (after the sensory overload has ceased), if you haven’t already, gather resources in a box, drawer, bag etc to help you in the event of another overload- some good options are stim toys, ear plugs/defenders, a list of things you find calming, printed online articles about sensory overload and how to calm it and things related to your special interest(s)

I hope this was helpful and I know it was probably stuff you’ve heard before but I didn’t know about a lot of this stuff until years after I first started having sensory overload and had to learn it from experience.

I hope you’re doing okay and have a lovely day, you’re doing the very best you can and I’m proud of you.

Feel free to add on other tips if you have them! This is not a comprehensive list and more insights are useful!

#autism #autistic #autism things #actually autistic #autism spectrum #autistic experiences #actually autism #autistic things #autistic community #autism problems #autistic spectrum #self harm tw #tw self harm #self harm mention #self harm mention tw #tw self harm mention #sensory overload #sensory overload tw #tw sensory overload #sensory issues #neurodivergent #actually neurodiverse #actually neurodivergent #neurodiverse stuff #neurodiversity #neurodivergent stuff #adhd #adhd stuff #adhd problems #adhd inattentive

[thecreaturecodex]

Demon, Balor Lord, Ndulu

“Nefarox, Overlord of Grixus” © Wizards of the Coast, by Aleksi Briclot. Accessed at the GameLore Wiki here.

[Commissioned by @tar-baphon​, the second of four monsters revolving around Demon Lord Eltab. In the original Forgotten Realms lore, Ndulu was just the most powerful of the rivals to Eltab’s throne, but I wanted to build a little more frisson into their relationship (and explain how the Moaning Crown was broken without going into its thousand year backstory; see the Eltab entry for information on the Moaning Crown). Choosing to give Ndulu a polearm was solely due to this amazing artwork; I was uninspired by the various bits of balor art I could find, and looked slightly further afield.]

Demon, Balor Lord, Ndulu CR 23 CE Outsider (extraplanar) This mighty demonic figure is wreathed in flames and crowned with horns. It carries a massive polearm with a hooked blade.

Ndulu the Ghost Eater is a balor lord of great power and greater ambition. He is both servant to and enemy of Eltab, Lord of the Hidden Layer, who has coerced his service through layers of magical curses and mundane threats. Ndulu currently acts as a regent, occupying Eltab’s abandoned fortress and fighting other Abyssal powers that seek to rule his territory. Ndulu’s current plans involve finding a way to stop Eltab from making demoncysts and siphoning Abyssal power. If Ndulu succeeds, Eltab will be stripped of power and rank, becoming a nascent demon lord and therefore a much easier target for the Ghost Eater’s physical violence.

Unlike most balors, Ndulu disdains fighting with two weapons at once. He keeps a flaming whip as a back up weapon, but his primary armament is a massive polearm, which he wields with both power and finesse. His tactics involve dominating the battlefield with reach and mobility, and he can and has slain entire armies single-handedly. His epithet comes from his conquest of undead monsters; he can strike incorporeal creatures effortlessly, and can heal his wounds by slaying the living and undead both.

Ndulu’s forces include both powerful combatants such as vavakia and mariliths, and more subtle agents such as glabrezu and succubi. The latter he has sent into the camps of enemy demons and to work among mortals, both leads pursuing a way to cut off the power of the demoncysts. An adventuring party of good aligned characters might find themselves working for the Ghost Eater at several layers of remove, their mentors corrupted by a demon working for Ndulu to clean out demoncysts and sever their connection to the Abyss. Although referring to the creature as an ally may be a stretch, a nightwave nightshade keeps counsel with Ndulu, and elite units of nightwalkers and nightwings have fought for Ndulu’s cause.

Ndulu     CR 23 XP 820,000 CE Large outsider (chaotic, demon, evil, extraplanar) Init +13; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +38, true seeing Aura flaming body, unholy aura (DC 27) Defense AC 40, touch 22, flat-footed 31 (+4 deflection, +9 Dex, +18 natural, –1 size) hp 492 (24d10+360) Fort +33, Ref +21, Will +29 DR 20/cold iron and good; Immune electricity, fire, poison; Resist acid 10, cold 10; SR 34 Defensive Abilities lifedrinker, negative energy affinity Offense Speed 40 ft., fly 90 ft. (good) Melee +2 vorpal unholy bill +39/+34/+29/+24 (2d6+23/19-20x3) plus 2d6 unholy) or +1 vorpal flaming  whip +38/+33/+28/+23 (1d4+15 plus 1d6 fire and entangle) or 2 slams +37 (1d10+14) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. (20 ft. with bill or whip) Spell-Like Abilities CL 20th, concentration +29 (+33 casting defensively) Constant—true seeing, unholy aura (DC 27) At will—dominate monster (DC 28), enervation, greater dispel magic, greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. of objects only), haste, heroism, inflict critical wounds (DC 23), power word stun, telekinesis (DC 24), unholy blight (DC 23) 3/day—control undead (DC 26), horrid wilting (DC 27), quickened waves of fatigue 1/day—blasphemy (DC 26), fire storm (DC 27), summon (level 9, any 1 CR 19 or lower demon 100%), wail of the banshee (DC 28) Statistics Str 39, Dex 29, Con 40, Int 26, Wis 26, Cha 29 Base Atk +24; CMB +39; CMD 62 Feats Blind-fight, Combat Casting, Combat Reflexes, Following Step, Improved Initiative, Improved Critical (bill), Iron Will, Power Attack, Quicken Spell-Like Ability (waves of fatigue), Stand Still, Step Up, Step Up and Strike Skills Acrobatics +33 (+37 when jumping), Bluff +36, Diplomacy +36, Fly +38, Intimidate +36,  Knowledge (history) +32, Knowledge (nobility) +32, Knowledge (planes) +35, Knowledge (religion) +32, Linguistics +24, Perception +43, Sense Motive +35, Stealth +32, Use Magic Device +36; Racial Modifiers +8 Perception Languages Abyssal, Celestial, Common, Draconic, Necril, Protean, 13 others; telepathy 100 ft. SQ death throes, ghostly grasp, shorten grip, vorpal strike, whip mastery Ecology Environment any land or underground (Abyss) Organization unique Treasure standard (+2 unholy cold iron bill, +1 flaming whip, other treasure) Special Abilities Death Throes (Su) When killed, Ndulu explodes in a blinding flash of fire that deals 120 points of damage (half fire, half unholy damage) to anything within 100 feet (Reflex DC 37 halves). The save DC is Constitution-based. Entangle (Ex) If Ndulu strikes a Medium or smaller foe with its whip, he can immediately attempt a grapple check without provoking an attack of opportunity. If Ndulu wins the check, he draws the foe into an adjacent square. The foe gains the grappled condition, but Ndulu does not. Flaming Body (Su) A balor's body is covered in dancing flames. Anyone striking Ndulu with a natural weapon or unarmed strike takes 1d6 points of fire damage. A creature that grapples Ndulu or is grappled by him takes 6d6 points of fire damage each round the grapple persists. Ghostly Grasp (Su) Ndulu’s natural weapons and manufactured weapons deal full damage to incorporeal creatures as if they had the ghost touch weapon property. Lifedrinker (Su) Once per round when Ndulu kills a living or undead opponent, he can heal 150 hit points and remove any status effects as per a heal spell (CL 20th). Shorten Grip (Ex) Ndulu can shorten his grip on a polearm as an immediate action, threatening all squares within 10 feet instead of the polearm’s normal reach until he lengthens his grip with another immediate action. Vorpal Strike (Su) Any slashing weapon Ndulu wields gains the vorpal weapon quality. Weapons retain this quality for one hour after Ndulu releases the weapon, but after this the weapon reverts to its standard magical qualities, if any. Whip Mastery (Ex) Ndulu treats a whip as a light weapon for the purposes of two-weapon fighting, and can inflict lethal damage on a foe regardless of the foe's armor.

#ndulu #balor #demon #balor lord #pathfinder 1e #D&D #forgotten realms #commission #magic the gathering #mtg art