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isa-belle1367 · 2 months

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So this is gonna be my AU where all of desmonds ancestors follow desmond around in spirit form (also including other assassins who aren't his ancestors), but this little story is taking place during ac3 when William hit desmond so...ya (this is probably gonna be really bad lmao) also plz do not ship desmond with anyone most of them are related, that's weird

Btw Kass isn't here bc she is still alive, so alexios is here instead

I woke up from the animus, still shocked about what I had heard. Haythem was a Templar.

I always got weird vibes from haythem, but I never thought he would be a Templar.

Over to my left, Altair was sitting on the floor next to Malik, I knew Rebecca and Shaun couldn't see them, not unless they allowed themselves to be seen. Which worked in my favor, I wouldn't even know where to begin to explain this

I wasn't even fully sure what they were or why they were here. At first, I thought it had something to do with them being my ancestors, but with Malik here, I knew that couldn't be the case. Bayek and Aya had also confirmed this.

Altair glanced at me and smiled before going back to his conversation with Malik, which was fine by me because I had more pressing matters to worry about.

"You all saw that, right?" I asked while sitting up.

"Wow," Rebecca looked shocked

"Wow indeed," shaun said, nodding

I glanced to the side, Connor was sitting with his head down. Connor had just started showing up recently, but I already liked him, so it hurt me to see him sad, especially over his father being a Templar.

"The key must be the amulet haythem took from London." I said

Bayek came up behind me. "Your father is behind you."

I nodded, I knew most of my ancestors didn't really like my dad, so they always took it upon themselves to warn me when he was near.

I heard my dad speak up. "We might know what it looks like, but we are no closer to finding it. Desmond, you need to keep going."

I stood, turning to my dad. Next to him, Altair and Malik were now up, glaring daggers at him. Well, everyone was except for Rebecca and Shaun, but Altair and Malik looked ready to gut him.

I could feel their rage, everyone's rage. I guess it comes with having ghosts following you around. You get to feel their emotions.

"Hey, he's your ancestor too. Why don't you hop in the animus?" Normally, I wouldn't have said anything, but it was really hard not too when I felt the anger of 9 people flowing through me.

"Really? That's your response? It's like dealing with a 6-year-old." He stated rolling his eyes

If I thought Altair looked angry before now, he looked furious, but Altair wasn't who I was focused on. It was Connor. Out of everyone, his rage was the strongest. I glanced over and saw Edward next to Connor. At least Edward is there to keep him somewhat calm.

"What is wrong with you, desmond?" William asked, walking around the animus to get closer to me.

I walked over to him, I could feel my rage boiling over

"You wanna know what's wrong? I'm sick of being treated like I'm not even here! Desmond, do this. Desmond do that. Desmond, you better figure things out, or the sun will kill us all.

And I know I was really nice to you, but I'm actually just another Templar plot twist. And yes, I would very much like for you to be controlled by a magic space wizard so that you can murder me. So there's your answer. I'm sick of being your pawn. I thought you might be different, but it turns out you're no better then the fucking Templars."

I had no clue why I said all of that. All of my rage that I had felt since I had been taken by abstergo had just seemed to boil over.

But before I could even register what I had just said, pain shot through my face. I stumbled back, shocked, and then I was blinded by a bright flash.

I looked over to see my dad flying to a wall, with Altair and ezio already running towards him with murder in their eyes.

I cursed, sprinting after them

"Altair, Ezio! Stop!" I called out

Luckily, my dad wasn't too far, and I was able to get to him quickly, but the bad news was that Altair and ezio were quicker and already had their weapons drawn. Along with bayek, Jacob, and evie.

"Altair, don't hurt him, you too, Ezio. Bayek, if you shoot my dad, I'm confiscating your bow and Jacob if you throw that bomb. I swear." I called out.

Altair and ezio frowned at me, clearly disappointed, bayek lowered his bow, and Jacob whispered something to evie.

"Jacob, if you're planning something, stop it."

I sighed, I loved these guys, but they can really be a handful sometimes.

"What they hell was that?" My dad said.

Oh, right, I forgot that to him. He just randomly got blasted across the room, then saw me yelling at seemingly nothing.

I was about to say something, but Alexios was standing behind my dad holding a sword, looking like he was about to spear my dad

I groaned and held my hand out. Alexios rolled his eyes before handing me the sword. It materialized in my hand, I put the sword against the wall before turning back to my dad, who now looked even more frightened

I rubbed my eyes. How the hell was I going to explain this.

Before I could figure out what I was going to say, Malik appeared next to me, but now he didn't appear as transparent. He was still transparent, but you could only tell if you looked long enough. He had made himself visible.

He grabbed my face, examining it. "Your nose is bleeding, though it doesn't appear to be broken."

I glanced at my dad, the poor man looked horrified.

I turned to him, pulling away from Malik. I offered a hand to him.

"Why don't you go have Shaun and Rebecca make sure you're not hurt, I'll explain everything in a second."

Malik grabbed my arm, raising an eyebrow. He gave me a look that said, "Are you sure about this."

I nodded, and he let go of my arm. "You're too kind for your own good." He stated in Arabic

After helping my dad up and making sure he could still walk, I turned to Altair and ezio.

"Really? he punched me, and you threw him into a stone wall!" I said exasperated.

Malik handed me a tissue, "Your nose is still bleeding."

"Not the point." I said while I dabbed at my nose with the tissue

I noticed Shaun, Rebecca, and William starting at me. "You know there is no point in keeping yourselves hidden now." I announced to my ancestors.

Jacob grinned, making himself visible along with evie. Bayek and Aya followed, then connor and Edward, and soon everyone was visible.

I glanced back over at shaun and Rebecca, and now they looked scared but also extremely confused. I sighed, I should probably explain everything to them before scolding Altair for throwing my dad.

I began to walk over to them, but bayek appeared next beside me, grabbing my shoulder

"Are you sure you don't want us to....handle your father." Bayek asked in Egyptian.

"No, you are not going to harm my dad mentally, emotionally, or physically." I responded in Egyptian. I didn't think my dad needed to hear that a bunch of skilled assassins wanted him dead.

I walked over to William and the others, ezio and Connor, following closely. I smiled. ezio had been kinda protective over me since he first came here, and while I hadn't gone through connors memories yet, I had a pretty good idea why he was weary of my dad.

"So I guess I should explain."

sorry if this is bad. This is very rushed, but I have had this idea in my head for about a week

Btw in case I didn't name everyone, the assassins following desmond are Altair, Malik, ezio, Aya, bayek, evie, Jacob, Connor, and Edward, (haythem shows up sometimes with shay)

#assassin's creed #desmond miles #altair #altair ibn la'ahad #connor kenway #william milles #jacob frye #evie frye #frye twins #edward kenway #bayek of siwa #aya of siwa #malik al sayf #ezio auditore #writing #short story #one shot #alexios

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rubiesintherough · 3 months

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SEND ME ‘ 😏 ’ AND MY MUSE WILL HONESTLY ANSWER THE FOLLOWING Q’S: for aedus

@strawberry-barista

How physically attracted they are to your muse

Very. Extremely. Thinks he looks dreamy, but that's too cheesy for him to say out loud... his eyes, his smile, his voice. *Aedus chef's kiss*

2. How romantically attracted they are to your muse

Wants to take him on beautiful dates, anywhere he wants to / is able to go. Make him food. Bring him flowers. Read him poetry in the soft glow of his fireplace in the late hours of the night. Generally look after him and make sure he's always happy. Safe to say, a lot.

3. How often they would like to have sex with yours.

Well, if Aedus had a say, all the time. But, he generally just has a pretty high libido. So, he's just gonna go with, whenever Hanekoma is down for it, he's down, too.

4. Where they would most likely have sex with yours

His go-to is good, old, classic bed. Comfiest, warmest, coziest place. But, he's open to other suggestions.

5. Whether they think yours would be “good” in bed

.......... In Aedus's dreams, he is. And he doesn't see any reason why that wouldn't hold true irl

6. What titles / nicknames my muse would like to call yours during sex

my dear, my darling, my love, are all his go-to's for pet names in general... so, he'd drop those a few times. But, there'd be a few Latin ones in the mix, too, bc Aedus tends to slip into his mother tongue when the spicy gets real good. Animus meus ( my soul ), cor meum ( my heart ), etc.

7. Up to 3 kinks they would like to explore with yours ( with consent of course )

Okay, so Aedus is a-okay with pretty much anything and everything. He lives to please his partners ... anything they wanna try, 99.999999% chance he'll be raring to go to give it to them. So, most accurate answer to this would be: anything Hanekoma wants.

8. What sort of sex they’d prefer to have with yours ( slow & sensual, quickie, etc. )

Again, this feels like such a cop out answer, but it genuinely is whatever his partner needs. Aedus's pleasure is directly tied to his partner's, so if they want it fast and rough, he's down. They want it slow and romantic? Same deal. So whatever the mood is, Aedus thrives on meeting his partner's desires and giving them whatever they need. All Hanekoma has to do is let him know what kinda mood is going on, and Aed will leap at the chance to provide.

9. What type of relationship my muse would like to form with yours. ( typical couple, friends with benefits, etc. )

A love that feels like being with your best friend. Laughter, and shared secrets, and shared troubles, and so many memories made it's hard to recall them all because it's all a joyous blur in the best possible way. But.... okay, Aedus feels that might be a little over the top to say all that, so he's just gonna go with being a couple....

#strawberry barista #answers ( aedus )#(( nsfw. ))

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thelowlysatsuma · 4 years

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alright dipsticks, hear me out

taz balance au where everything is the same except that lucretia and barry have each others’ farspeech frequencies

it all starts about a year after lucretia voidfishes the plane. she’s poking around goldcliff, hoping to find some way to con some rich shit into paying for her gigantic moon base, when she runs — literally runs headfirst — into some bespectacled nerd in denim

barry, for his part, doesn’t know why this complete stranger is offering to buy him lunch as an apology for spilling his Fantasy Starbucks all over his oldass shirt, but he sure as shit isn’t complaining. especially when something, something about this kid feels so... familiar

in a spur of the moment decision, lucretia gives him her farspeech number. barry doesn’t think anything of it at the time

...anything, that is, until he’s rising, spectral and flickering, over his battered corpse, and he begins laughing hysterically, tears glimmering in long-gone eye sockets. he may not have lup back, but he’s got his little sister.

so they start texting. is barry furious at lucretia for what she’s done? sure, a bit. but he understands her logic, and his temper is soothed when she point-blank tells him that she’s going to help him find lup. they may be working against each other as far as the relics are concerned, but if lucretia can locate at least one more shred of her former family, then by god is she going to. barry understands, he thinks, and so they help keep each other a little less lonely over a long ten years

lucretia keeps barry updated on how the other birds are doing, as best she can. they rejoice together as magnus and julia take back raven’s roost, and when glamour springs is shadowed by a mass poisoning barry has to do everything up to physically restraining lucretia from beating the ass of whichever motherfucker did that to taako. wait, he tells her. physical pain is temporary. a lich, on the other hand, is in a prime position to make some douche’s life a living hell. lucretia grins and offers to fund his plots in any way she can.

barry, for his part, keeps lucretia up-to-date on the search for lup. they have matching little cork boards in their respective offices, each filled with maps and theories and half-baked what-ifs. they aren’t any closer to finding out what happened to her, but they will. they have to.

speaking of things happening, barry is the first one to find lucretia after wonderland. he hadn’t been able to reach her for a month, and so when he feels the enormous surge of pure magical despair explode outwards from the felicity wilds, he transports himself there as quickly as he can. he finds his baby sister at the centre of a mile-wide crater, twenty years older and countless sacrifices poorer, and he holds her as gently as he can without physical hands, and makes her promise to never deal with wonderland again. fuck, he’ll get the animus bell for her, he doesn’t care. he just can’t see lucretia in that state ever again. (never again, that’s what they told themselves, in a group huddle late one night the dawn of cycle 66. he’d failed her once. he couldn’t do it again.)

as she builds up the bureau, lucretia starts getting questions about her best friend on the stone. lucas asks her point blank who it is one day early in their acquaintance, and she answers “b- uh, b-j” “that tells me basically nothing. what does that even stand for?” lucas demands. “uh,” lucretia says, “🅱️amazing jrace”

thus begins a fine tradition of bureau employees trying to get any info they can on the mysterious “bj”, including his actual name. so far some of the top answers they’ve gotten from madame director include “bitchin jackass” “burger joint” “beetlejuice” and “banjo jimboree”. once, robbie asks her if he’s her secret lover, and lucretia has to summon a bucket before retching in disgust, which puts paid to that particular theory fairly succinctly

barry, for his part, adores these rumours. he keeps asking if lucretia will lift the lich barrier, just for a day, so he can come and stir up even more shit. lucretia, while admittedly very tempted, denies.

when he finds out that lucretia has been telling bureau employees that the red robes are evil, barry is understandably insulted. the next group of regulators that touch the ground are covered in fantasy cheez whiz for the duration of their mission.

lucretia gets him back by replacing all the denim in the jeans at his base with silly string. barry moves bases, and the prank war escalates

(no one has the courage to tell madame director that her hair has been turned rainbow at the last candlenights party. privately, lucretia thinks she looks bitchin)

every now and again, lucretia will text barry in a panic. these texts tend to look like this:

“barry.” “barold aid me” “barry I fucked shit up real good this time” “barry” “barry” “barry I was at the fantasy Olive Garden and the waiter said ‘enjoy your meal’ and I said ‘you too’ barry kill me n o w “

barry can and will mock lucretia mercilessly for this. he also insists for weekly video updates on fisher and junior.

he also has biweekly fantasy skype sessions with davenport

booyah: I saw a woman so beautiful I started crying???

bear-old: oh mood

booyah: and then I hired her and her son (who’s a little bitch) to work on my secret moon base and I think I’ve made a terrible mistake???????

bear-old: oh my fucking god this is why I don’t trust you to stop the apocalypse

when the thb start working as reclaimers, barry demands weekly updates on them, as well. it goes about as well as you’d expect

booyah: magnus ate the philosopher’s stone

bear-old: he fucking w h a t ?

booyah: he used the glutton’s fork, and he ATE the philosopher’s stone. taako and merle used stone skin and stone shape to get the damn thing out. happy fucking candlenights.

when barry finds out that taako’s DATING the fool who’s been chasing after him wile e coyote style for over a decade, he loses his s h i t. he and lucretia have a girls’ night where they bitch about taako and eat shitty chocolate to cope

bear-old: you HIRED a BABY???

booyah: he’s ten! that’s plenty old. and he’s certainly competent, seeing as he found my organization when even you couldn’t.

bear-old: creesh please. please do not Irreparably Fuck Up A Small Child

booyah: hey, at least I’m not the one who threw him off a moving train!

bear-old: I never threw anyone off a

bear-old: lucretia

bear-old: who

bear-old: who in your employ threw ANGUS MCDONALD, a LITERAL CHILD, off of a MOVING. VEHICLE?

booyah:

booyah: taako

bear-old: fucking fantasy CHRIST

(they have quite a few girls’ nights eating shitty chocolate and razzing on taako, actually)

team sweet flips goes to the director’s office one day to give a status report and find her red-eyed and coughing. she says she has allergies. the cute cat video barry just texted her on her stone, however, begs to differ

lucretia preps the boys for refuge, yes, but her mind is filled with texts and tomes and the letters “l u p” carved into a bureau wall. she passes countless sleepless nights with barry on the line, trying to decipher what it all means

but they emerge from the woven gulch unscathed, and that can only mean one thing: wonderland

she doesn’t tell barry where she’s sending them. she can’t let him interfere out of some misguided attempt to save her from the place. her texts grow few and far between

she doesn’t have to tell barry. he knows

the day they get sent out, as lucretia breaks down in her office, surrounded by a dizzying vastness that could envelop her very being if she would just let it, her stone buzzes.

four words: I’ll keep them safe

and then?

well, then it’s the end of the world

(but when lup emerges from her decade-long cage, phantasmal and resplendent, lucretia and barry share a look)

(and when the hunger is consuming the only home she knows and she’s flying out in one last attempt to face is, barry is on her stone)

(and when the dust settles and they’re finally, finally free, when the world hears a story and a song and former and current bureau employees alike learn just how important the mysterious “bj” really is, when lucretia looks at the wreckage of her life’s work and home and family — when all that happens, barry is the one to beckon to her with open arms.)

(they’ve been beside the other for a hundred and ten years, after all. that’s not gonna fucking change now.)

anyways yeah folks barry and lucretia texting au play with me in this space

@littlemisscritical @thatcoldfeeling and you know what? @herbgerblin what the hell

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barry-j-blupjeans · 3 years

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“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” a voice says and Barry’s head jerks up suddenly, static shuddering off his body. Even during midday, the trees shadow around them and make the moment look a little too dark to be natural. Something roars off in the distance. The Felicity Wilds were dangerous and he had avoided them for so long, but...

“I have to be,” Barry said.

The Reaper is leaning against a tree. He doesn’t have his scythe out- not this time, not yet- but his lip is curled into a frown. He regards Barry’s lich with form more curiosity than disdain, a huge difference from when they first met. Barry turns away from him and focuses on his spell, lest he lose his family’s signatures on the tracker.

“When I let you go, we made a deal. You remember, don’t you?” the Reaper asked, walking towards Barry. Barry hummed a note to show he heard and started heading northward.

“Barry-” the Reaper says, jogging to keep up with him. “You’re not allowed to be here. You know you’re not allowed to be here-”

“I have to be,” Barry repeats. “The people I’m looking after are in here.”

“Your-- in here? In the Felicity Wilds? Are they trying to get killed?!”

“Maybe,” Barry says, meaning it as a joke, but it comes out to grim. “Just- just give me like... a few days. At most. And then I’ll be outta here. I promise.”

He never breaks his stride. The Reaper hurries to keep up.

“You are not allowed to interact with the Wonderland liches,” the Reaper says firmly. “That was part of our deal, Barry Bluejeans, lest you’ve forgotten-!”

“Don’t talk to me about forgetting,” Barry says, finally turning to look the Reaper directly in the eye. He seems to startle at the look, taking a sudden step back. A silvery scythe forms in his hand, most likely out of instinct, but Barry can’t deal with that right now.

“Listen,” Barry says, voice deadly serious. “My family- my brothers- are in danger. I- I can’t have you stopping me right now. They’re over there-” and he gestures wildly towards the north, towards Wonderland, towards his Animus Bell- “going into some death trap and I won’t have you stop me. I will fight you if I have to.”

The Reaper is silent, staring at him with an expression that Barry can’t make out. After a few long-stretched moments of silence, the Reaper takes a shuddering, unnecessary breath.

“Your... family,” the Reaper says quietly. “They are... the ones who appeared in my book at the same time as you, yes?”

“Yes,” Barry says. “I’m- I’m begging ya, pal. I gotta go after them. They’re gonna get themselves killed.”

Another lapse of silence, followed by a short sigh from the Reaper.

“If I see anything... unusual... appear in my book,” he begins. “I will know that you have broken our deal. Understood?”

“Yes,” Barry says.

“Then...” the Reaper ducks his head, taking a step back. The scythe vanishes from his grip. “Keep them safe, Barry.”

#Barry Bluejeans #Kravitz #taz barry bluejeans #taz kravitz #i am speaking #mine #oh ho ho!!!!!#a ficlet!#ise cube writing

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starforgednegativespace · 3 years

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Part One: Animus

I had been on Animus less than a stellar day and already felt like I'd been gargling with lava. Even within the relative shelter of Rampart, the planet-side mining complex where I'd come to meet my contact, the air was barely breathable. Decades of disrepair had left the air scrubbers barely functioning; apparently the locals were used to it, but even the recycled air on Rune Song tasted how I imagine a cool summer breeze would taste by comparison.

In the warm rain, Rampart's wide streets, asphalt peppered with sickly coloured dust, shone under flickering neon lights from overhanging signs for drug bars, pubs and brothels; everything a miner risking their lives and health could want. I walked through the darkening streets, hands jammed firmly in the pockets of my deep red flight suit, one hand gripping the barely functioning bolt pistol in my left pocket, concealed under the bulk of my belt pouches and rain-slicked overcoat. I was tired. Being a spacer, you have to deal with local times being different in settlements than the ship time your body gets used to, and right now I should've been wrapped up in my bunk aboard Rune Song letting the Six-Ten-Ten handle things, but instead I had planet under my feet and an early evening appointment I had no right to be keeping to keep. I stifled a yawn, pushed my rain-soaked mauve hair back from my face with my free hand, and pushed open the door of Kenji's saloon.

The saloon air was warm and smelled like stale liquor and just the faintest hint of the pervasive toxicity of Animus. Behind the bar, a bent-out-of-shape old timer with sharp, angular features and a bad prosthetic arm was pouring liquor for grim faced miners, while a couple of disinterested looking girls wearing revealing outfits which showed the toxic scarring on their thighs and collars pulled silver from eager locals for games of Traust. Some patrons gave me a quick look, and few looked long as I entered, turning back to their drinks and gambling, muttered conversations lost under the distorted electronic jazz sputtering from the jukebox in the corner. I opened my jacket, shook some rainwater from it, and scanned the room. Over in the opposite corner from the jukebox, sitting alone with a pair of drinks, was Shepherd. She nodded, full lips curling slightly into what you'd charitably call a smile, motioning for me to go over. I scanned the room again; none of the people here looked like Ikaro's goons, and none of them had the air of mercenaries about them. My grip on the bolt pistol relaxed, and I headed to her table, dropping into the worn synthetic-leather booth opposite her.

"Kiri Quint, in the flesh" she purred, raising a slightly grubby glass to me. "How long's it been?"

"Too long, Shepherd" I replied, courteous as I could muster, and reached for the second glass. Her hand slapped mine away. "Sorry, I assumed..."

"The good liquor doesn't come cheap round these parts," she shot back. "I'm sure Kenji has some forge-spawn piss the locals love so much with your name on it." She motioned to the bartender, then pointed to me. The bartender nodded and started pouring what I assumed was some cheap local faux-liquor into a plastic tumbler. Shepherd smiled that tight, half smile again. "It's on me."

"Still a saint, huh Shep?" I pulled the hip flask from my inner pocket, unscrewed it and took a pull of the burning liquor within. Shepherd's eyes narrowed. I offered her the flask. "This is the good stuff."

Shepherd declined the flask with a wave of an immaculately manicured hand.

"No offence, Cutter, but I don't know where you've been"

The bartender, Kenji I assume, brought the dirty plastic tumbler over, dropped it in front of me and grunted, eyes giving me the once over. He glanced at Shepherd like he was waiting to be dismissed, then slinked away when she continued to ignore him. I picked up the tumbler and sniffed it.

"Smells like hydraulic fluid. You trying to poison me, Shep?"

I forced a laugh, took a sip and grimaced.

"Always willing to try new things, huh?" Shep smirked and sipped her drink, long lashes fluttering slightly over the glass as her eyes stayed on me. I exhaled, stifled another yawn, and looked around the dingy tavern. I motioned with my finger.

"This yours?"

"Mostly. I have a controlling stake in operations on Rampart. With that comes, I guess you could call it a stewardship of the local entertainment. It's a symbiotic relationship."

"Oh, I get it, you pay the miners salaries then take it back through whatever means necessary?"

She smirked again.

"Pretty much, yes."

I took another sip from the dirty cup of cheap synthesized booze and fished around in one of the many pockets of my flight suit until I found the crumpled pack of nic-rods. I put it to my mouth and Shepherd, right on cue, was there with a light for me.

"Thanks." I blew stale smoke to the side. The nic-rods were old, and I barely smoked unless I was very, very tense; and right now I was just that. Shepherd had that way about her. Always had, even back when she was calling herself Hal and sporting a man's body.

"You're welcome. I know yours isn't working."

Rust-dammit

"You heard about that?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. If Shepherd knew, then that meant Ikaro probably knew, and if Ikaro knew...

"I like to keep tabs on my favourite Spacers. I have to admit, I was impressed when I heard our little Cutter was Ironsworn now." She put her drink down and lit a nic-rod of her own, blowing sweet-smelling smoke towards me. "Relax, Kiri. She doesn't know. Vlada Ikaro and I are no longer associates."

Associate was one way of putting it. Executive assistant to a blood-thirsty warlord was a more accurate description.

"Nobody leaves Ikaro" I said flatly. My hand slipped back into my pocket to make sure the gun was still there, my instinct to get up and run from this place was overwhelming. Cut and run at the first sign of trouble, like I always did. That's why they called me Cutter back then.

"You did. I never got the chance to tell you how much it amused me to learn that you took her cargo. Her ship too. The sheer audacity of it."

"I earned Rune Song."

"I'm sure you did. For what it's worth, Vlada and I parted company on rather better terms. We came to an amicable agreement."

"How much of your share in Rampart does she get?"

That was maybe too far. Shepherd sucked her teeth and put her glass down. Guess I hit a nerve. But my point still stood. Nobody leaves Ikaro. Not really. "Look, I was surprised to hear from you. I had no idea you were even in this sector, having a Herald track me down came as kind of a shock, not least of all because this whole set up seems a little unglamorous for your tastes."

She seemed to loosen up a little.

"You'd be surprised; far end of town there are some really rather lovely subterranean apartments. Clean air, access to all the best shipments, the works. And far less getting my hands dirty in the process than organising wet-work for Vlada Ikaro. No, I do well here."

"Here's to moving on." I raised my cup and drained it. "Now, why don't you tell me why you asked me here?"

Shepherd raised her glass, took a sip, and stubbed the half-smoked nic-rod out in a copper ashtray.

"I need a courier. Someone capable"

I narrowed my eyes

"You have silver to pay for Heralds who can track me down, why not use one of them?"

She smiled that slight, tight smile again.

"The Heralds share information. I need someone who can afford to be more discreet. Someone who would get the job done no matter what..." Wait for it... "Someone Ironsworn."

There it was

"Why all the secrecy, Shep? What's the job?"

Shepherd's eyes lit up like she couldn't wait to tell me some wild secret. She leaned in close, so close I could smell the expensive booze on her breath.

"You want to know why I picked this world to settle on? Why someone like me would choose to cool their heels in a rusty mining colony on a toxic shithole like Animus?" I nodded. " Let me ask you this, Kiri, when you were landing here, did your nav-com take you on an unusual trajectory?"

"Yeah, I figured atmospheric disturbances or something. It's not uncommon for a world like this"

"No. Port control have orders to steer ships away from a particular region of near space. You see, up there..." she pointed upwards. "Orbiting right above our heads, just out of atmo... is a fucking precursor vault."

By Iron, I swore. I unscrewed the cap of my hip flask and took a long pull. Precursor vaults were scattered throughout The Forge; unimaginably ancient relics from a long-dead race of technologically advanced beings who once ruled this region of space. Rumours of tombs filled with relics of incredible power and technology were common among spacers. Some people thought they were myths, but those people had never flown the drift and seen the horrors of the forge up close.

"What's the job?"

"I need you to take some cargo to Paradox Station at Hera, I have a contact there who'll give you the co-ordinates to a deep-space research station where the cargo goes. A simple delivery job with a stop-over, but it's long distance and I need someone I can trust and someone with an Eidolon Drive. And if I recall, Rune Song is equipped with such a drive..."

I nodded again and stubbed the nic rod out.

"That kind of distance is gonna cost, Shep. At least -"

"Twenty thousand silver, ten up front, ten on completion."

Twenty thousand silver was a lot of money for a simple cargo run. More than double what I was going to ask, and what I was going to ask was double what the job was worth. There was a lot I didn't trust about this whole situation, but Rune Song needed repairs and I was down to my last few silver. Shit, it was worth it.

"What's the cargo?" I asked.

#ironsworn #starforged #ttrpg #solo rpg #actual play

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #3- Robots in the Vents, Because It’s Not a Roberts Story if It Doesn’t Happen at Least Once

So, the duobots are having a hell of a day.

Shock, our resident obligate belly-sleeper and newly-single robot, laments the passing of his buddy, leaves a vial of innermost energon by his body- a practice that will be expanded upon later- then covers up any and all traces of their having worked with Prowl. These are the inside guys Prowl called after he flipped that table in issue #1.

As Shock tracks down the tracer Ore was supposed to be planting instead of being eaten by the quantum drive, he comes across that sparkeater that got mentioned last issue.

That is his brain.

Then he explodes.

Which brings us to the scene we left in issue #2. Sparkeater on board the Lost Light, which is full of sparks that probably would prefer not to get eaten.

Holy shit Cosmos is huge. I don’t remember him being that goddamn big.

Rodimus thinks that this whole sparkeater thing is really neat, and he’s happy to be a part of it, but he’s not so thrilled about the prospect of subjecting the others to this event, so he orders everyone to find a friend and go to their rooms until he and his select few sort this whole thing out. He doesn’t tell them about the sparkeater, because that’s some scary bullshit to throw out there less than a day into the trip.

Everyone files out, Swerve having forgotten about Tailgate, who’s having a minor wardrobe malfunction. Since he doesn’t have legs at present, he calls out to the one other guy he knows on the Lost Light.

Tailgate really knows how to pick ‘em.

Over with the dead body, everyone stands what is probably unadvisedly close to the scene of the crime and Ratchet performs a quick and dirty autopsy. The boys discuss the validity of Red Alert’s theory that this was caused by a sparkeater, with the mention of Rewind’s grainy footage making the creature seem like the Cybertronian equivalent of a cryptid. Probably less Fresno nightcrawler and more chupacabra. Ratchet tries to get everyone to focus for two goddamn seconds, when Trailbreaker picks up Shock’s brain module, knocking everyone right back off track again with the discussion of Rossum’s Trinity, the idea that the spark, brain module, and transformation cog are all interconnected, and damage to one can cause the others to shut down.

Ratchet’s had just about enough of this lot, but he gets through his examination.

This is the issue Alex Milne started drawing the insignias in himself as opposed to the previous practice of IDW having them put in in post.

Rodimus, however, wants to show off his new toys as it were, and asks Chromedome to take a gander. Chromedome wearily obliges, having Ratchet pop the brain back in Shock’s head so he can do his thing. Every other person on this fucking ship is a doctor, you see, and Chromedome is no exception- he’s a mnemosurgeon.

(Yes, my spellcheck DOES lose its mind every time I type that.)

Chromedome takes his terrifying pointy hands, jams them into the eye sockets of this corpse, and gets a brainfull of Shock’s final moments.

This is such a cool panel, and I went and ruined it for myself by realizing the upper left portion shouldn’t be visible, seeing as the brain is already outside Shock’s head, without any sort of cord connecting it to his body.

Back upstairs, folks are moving into their rooms for the surprise lockdown. Cyclonus is being a pal and is carrying Tailgate, because I’m pretty sure the little guy is just about the only person who’s talked to him in a non-hostile fashion in the last couple of months, and that really gets old after a while.

Those legs sure are something, Hoist. Is it just, like, a rule that a certain percentage of Transformers designs have to be at least somewhat unintentionally horny?

The two find a room, and then Cyclonus remembers that he’s not supposed to show things like empathy until later in the series, and drops Tailgate on the floor unceremoniously.

Meanwhile, over with Skids and Swerve, the pair’s found something truly wonderful- a fully-stocked bar. Swerve’s always wanted to run a bar, and this just might be his chance to chase his dreams.

Swerve is the punching bag for MTMTE, in case you couldn’t tell.

While Swerve is not-so-subtly crying for help, Skids is busy enacting another Roberts writing-staple- the robot in the vents. See, Skids has hit his bad boy phase; he doesn’t play by your daddy’s rules, so he’s gonna sneak out and do generally whatever pleases him, because he’s got a big honkin’ chunk of memories that just aren’t there anymore. Apparently that’s all he needs to go AWOL.

As Skids lifts himself up into the ceiling to fulfill his destiny as a vent-pest, he asks Swerve if he listens to music, which is met with a negatory. Odd, given his later characterization, but maybe he’s more into contemporary works.

The ass poking worked! Swerve is now the proud owner of one whole entire friend!

Back with the corpse crew, Chromedome’s finished his assessment of the body, and agrees that there’s a sparkeater amongst them. This is a huge fucking problem, to put it lightly, both in the sense of actual, physical danger, and the metaphysical space of the Lost Light itself.

Are we sure this thing didn’t just see this ship full of over 200 war veterans and say “that’s some good eatin’ right there” and snuck on board? Because if I were a horrific monster that was drawn to pain and emotional trauma, I’d absolutely consider the Lost Light a gold mine.

As Chromedome lays his head in Rewind’s lap, the others weigh their options. Sparkeaters go after the brightest sparks, then work their way down, so this thing is probably on the move as they speak. The thing’s eaten recently, the sparks haven’t completely digested, and that means they can’t just shoot it, because then it’ll explode, and we’ve had enough of that for one day.

Rodimus has everyone else go to hunt the thing down, while he and Drift hang out here in the basement. When Ultra Magnus questions this plan of attack, he’s brushed off, though Rodimus appears to imply that he thinks he’s got the brightest spark on the ship. Probably all that Matrix nonsense he went through.

Back upstairs, Animus gets shot with the irony gun and gets his soul vored.

This is what happens when you tell lies, kids. Your lemon-lime flavored soul gets eaten by the mecha-Krampus.

Whirl, who had locked the door to the habsuite, which is why Animus was out in the hall to begin with, realizes that something seriously messed up is happening, and does what he knows best, i.e. shooting first and asking questions probably never.

Good thing Trailbreaker is there to keep Whirl from exploding the entire ship, employing the help of his forcefield ability to contain the barrage.

In the resulting chaos, the sparkeater escapes, having triangulated its next meal, and it’s not Rodimus.

It’s this dweeb.

You can tell he’s in his office, because he’s got a landscape painting in there. Landscape paintings are pretty much the only decor allowed in doctors’ offices, I’m pretty sure it’s, like, a law or something.

Luckily, Rung decided to get threatened by a space-cryptid directly under a vent, so Skids can save his skinny little butt. Good job, Skids. Proud of you.

Back with Tailgate and Cyclonus, little dude’s just finished explaining his whole deal. He’s still trying to figure out what the hell happened during his dirt nap, so Cyclonus tries his best to fill him in on the several million year war. Keep in mind, Cyclonus wasn’t exactly there either, so his whole explanation probably isn’t the best. He wonders out loud which side Tailgate would have gravitated towards, had he been around for the massive mess the Autobots and Decepticons made.

Meanwhile, back in the GODDAMNED DUCTWORK, Rung and Skids are crawling as fast as they can to escape the sparkeater, though they can’t be that worried about it, seeing as Rung answers a phone call on his weird body-harness phone setup. Rodimus tells the two of them to head for the engine room, so that the sparkeater follows them down. Rung doesn’t seem too thrilled about this plan, but what’s he gonna do, argue with a potential space-pope?

Skids punches through a vent into the elevator shaft, then uses his grappling hook- which I want to say is never seen again after this issue- to lower them down in one of the most well-known crotch shots in the entire comic series.

Iconic.

They land on top of the elevator, and Skids yells at Brainstorm to punch the "E for Engine Room” button. The sparkeater bursts in through the ceiling, and Skids and Rung book it out of there, leaving Brainstorm to his inevitable demise.

Or not.

Rung and Skids have made it to the engine room, so now it’s time for the next portion of Rodimus’ plan, which is really only a small tweaking of what Rung was doing earlier- instead of being a moving target, he’ll be playing the role of stationary bait, as Rodimus holds him like a fucking crucifix made out of people, urging the sparkeater to come take a bite.

Up on the bridge, Perceptor gets ready to kick on the quantum engine, as per his captain’s request. Sure hope this plan works, because if they lose Rung, I don’t think they’ll ever find another therapist, thanks to the apparent ratio of 1:1/3 of the entire population of Cybertron.

The sparkeater lunges, Rodimus throws Rung off to the side, and he and the beast wrestle, Crocodile Dundee style. Perceptor initializes the jump, and, because they’re in the danger zone for the quantum engine, they get sucked in.

Rung seems a little miffed, but I’d say this is a win for Team Rodimus, even if those arms of his are toast. It’s cool though, he can get new ones.

Smashcut to Rodimus and his sick new arms, as he finishes explaining just what the hell happened to Magnus. Magnus isn’t quite as jazzed about the whole “used our therapist as a worm on a hook” thing as one would think, surprisingly, but Rodimus isn’t in the mood for a lecture. Off in the background, Tailgate’s getting his butt fixed, curtesy of Ratchet. Tailgate’s talking up a storm, regardless of Ratchet’s rather cool reception to the chatter.

Tailgate did some thinking while everyone was locked in their rooms, and he’s made a decision, based on his limited understanding of the Autobot/Decepticon war.

I guess Cyclonus forgot to mention the fact that there isn’t a single Decepticon on this ship for a reason.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #liars A-to-D #issue 3 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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kyidyl · 3 years

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Ok so I wrote this post once and it got eaten before I could finish it and then I started the Vinland arc and I wanted to wait till I finished that before I wrote it because @systlin I know I only mentioned the dig in the modern bit, but you’re about to get some Bonus Content (TM).

Anyway, in AC: Valhalla (AKA: Ass Creed Pillage England) they show a dig in the modern outside of the animus scenes and the question of accuracy came up on Systlin’s stream the other day so here we are. I even took pictures! Yes, pictures, with my phone, because I play on console and couldn’t figure out how to send myself screenies. I’m going to blame it on covid-related brain cell loss. :P That orange hue is not my phone, it’s the game, it’s a plot thing.

First up, we have this:

100% accurate, every dig is contractually obligated to have one of those shitty plastic chairs and at least one person will bring a cloth folding chair (me. I’m that one person.) to a dig.

Ok, so here’s a wider shot of the dig:

Not bad, TBH. Table for finds, random jumble of equipment, tarp for covering the hole when not in use. The lights aren’t a thing, but none of us are doing a dig during a world-ending electromagnetic storm either. I can’t see a spoil heap (the dirt we’ve dug up and screened already), but I wasn’t looking for one. Usually the stuff won’t be so close to the dig itself, and there’s no screen, but that’s less of a thing in a burial dig so it’s fine.

Next, a shot of the table with the artefacts on it:

Again, not bad as far as accuracy goes. Most people don’t realize this, but archaeologists use trowels MUCH more than pretty much any other tool. We tend not to use brushes bc they can damage delicate things. We don’t use hammers, not as far as I’ve seen anyway. The tools between the brushes and the trowel are accurate, too. TBH I have no idea what they’re called but they’re basically tiny trowels for really delicate stuff (I used them almost exclusively when I was excavating a kid.). The state of preservation of the artifacts is also pretty damned accurate, as is the inclusion of a DSLR. We take lots of pictures. The tags aren’t accurate, but I’ll get back to that in a hot second. Also I literally have one of these plastic tables in the basement on which I was doing artefact processing for *months* so like....accurate lol.

Ok, the dig itself:

So this is a good place to mention that I’m specifically trained as a bioarchaeologist (even tho I’ve spent more time digging up other stuff.), which means that I specifically am trained to deal with human remains and other biological stuff. Primarily humans tho. Excavations of burials and excavations of, for example, a home, are handled very differently. So you see those stakes with the string? That’s...accurate, but not to a burial. We don’t need ‘em because you just go to the edges of the burial. When you don’t do a burial, then you mark the sides of the hole with stakes and string, so they’d also be on the surface not in the pit.

The partial excavation is accurate, but probably not on purpose by Ubisoft. See, arch generally try to stick to the philosophy of the most info you can get for the least amount of destruction of the site. Because Shawn’s goal here is to gain access to Eivor’s body for the animus and not necessarily to lift the body out of the ground, it’s accurate that he hasn’t excavated her entirely. It’s also possible that ubisoft left the pelvis covered bc the game lets you choose your gender (Yes, I know that sex != gender, but in the context of Ubisoft’s game creation, I could see them obscuring all references to a canon sex OR gender for Eivor.).

I’m not like an expert or anything on viking burials so I can’t speak to the contents of the burial, but the fact that they included grave goods at all is accurate.

Another feature here that was interesting to me was the stepped sides of the grave. Because *that’s how we dig*, lol. It’s not how we dig burials, because burials are dug in stages (expose the remains, dig around the remains, dig under the remains, and lift the remains out.), but here’s a picture of one of the holes at my current dig:

Note the string along the top of the hole...

Anyway, the stepped sides shows me that they definitely DID put some effort into designing the dig, but like...it kinda falls into “he’s confused but he’s got the spirit” territory.

The last comment I have about the dig is about the little tags. We don’t tag things and label them like that because we take and draw a lot of pictures of the hole and we tag things in the pictures later, not in the hole itself. However, I think that the tags are a good way of indicating to the audience in the game that Shawn is being meticulous bc it’s not like we’re gonna see his paperwork later. So there you go...the AC: Valhalla dig through the eyes of an actual archaeologist.

Now, bonus Vinland content:

THIS IS GONNA CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR AC: VALHALLA.

For those who don’t know, the Norse visited the Americas several times on several different occasions. Generally speaking, when their explorations appear in the popular consciousness, they can be divided into two locations: Vinland and L’anse aux Meadows. Vinland may actually refer to several different settlements and their locations aren’t precisely known (although there are several guesses based on the descriptions in the sagas.), but L’anse aux Meadows is an actual site in Newfoundland that is an active dig (fun fact: one of my profs during my masters spends his summers there sometimes bc a buddy of his is in charge of the dig.) and you can go visit it if you want. Popularly though people tend to refer to Vinland as one settlement, and its location is unknown.

So the Vinland saga ends with you getting an apple of Eden from Gorm Kjotveyson when you murder him for being a bastard. You also see the doorway to an Isu temple that he’s dug up. Eivor gives this apple to the native people that you trade with over the course of the story. These people are a local Mohawk tribe. And, specifically, they are the tribe that protagonist of Assassin’s Creed 3 - Ratonhnhake:ton - is born into. They guard the apple they get from Eivor and it eventually ends up in Ratonhnhake:ton ‘s possession. His dad is a Templar (Haytham Kenway, the son of Edward Kenway - the protag of AC:4 pirates. Not to be confused with Hytham, the baby Hidden One in AC: Valhalla.), and if I remember correctly Connor is conceived in the temple that Gorm dug up. Anyway regardless, his people still live in the area and because we know where Ratonhnhake:ton was born, we know where Vinland is within the AC universe. Turin, New York.

Turin isn’t coastal, but given AC’s map compression for the sake of gaming and the location of the temple in the far northwest of the Vinland map, it’s close enough. It’s also within the range of proposed locations for Vinland, so there ya go. I actually have other interesting stuff about Vinland stories that I know, but this post is stupid long so I’m gonna leave it off, lol.

#video games #archaeology #ac: valhalla #Assassin's Creed #Assassin's creed: Valhalla #AC: Valhalla spoilers

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fabrilyshop · 3 years

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anistarrose · 5 years

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Live By The Book (Gravity Falls x TAZ Balance)

Summary: It’s just the Balance Arc with Gravity Falls characters, because that’s exactly what we all need in our lives, right?

Word count: ~4200

Warnings: some violence, but no worse than you would normally find in GF or TAZ

Lots of people say Amnesty is the more Gravity Falls-like campaign, and I see exactly where they’re coming from, but the whole “creating an item that absorbs the power of defeated magic users even though you yourself turn into a being of pure magic when defeated” thing just strikes me as a very Ford idea. Hence this fic.

Going to count this as a @forduary submission!

(The form Ford takes on here was partially inspired by @marypsue‘s take on Lich Ford!)

Stan had seen skeletons before, humanoid and otherwise, and they’d never particularly rattled him. He wasn’t a fan of dead bodies by any means, but unlike the living, they were nice and predictable. Skeletons usually didn’t expose you in the middle of a heist or get you run out of town, and for that reason, he tolerated them just fine.

But there was something about this one that unsettled him, in a way that had to be all in his head, yet still set his hands shaking and his heart racing. It was as if he’d just woken up from a nightmare, still shaken and panicked but having already forgotten what he’d been so afraid of.

Stan never felt like this when he saw the dead. He didn’t understand…

Maybe… maybe it was just something about how the body had seemed to almost lurk in the shadows, how they’d nearly passed it by completely before Dipper had noticed it and pointed it out. Maybe it was something about how the skeleton still wore a pair of black-rimmed glasses that concealed its eyes, or how it was cloaked in a long brown coat, one that had somehow avoided being decomposed like the body and its other clothes. Or maybe it was the offness of the hands that curled protectively around a red, rectangular item in its lap — an offness that, Stan realized, was due to the extra fingers.

Dipper approached the skeleton slowly and reverently, as if expecting it to spring to life, and laid a hand on the item it cradled. He grimaced, as if some shock had coursed through him, but his expression relaxed a moment later, and he pulled out a heavy-looking tome, bound in red leather and with the image of a six-fingered hand emblazoned on the cover.

Even Stan — who was by far the least magical person in the room, no contest — could tell there was something up about that book. As Dipper cautiously began to flip through the pages, he could feel magical energy radiating off of it in waves, making his stomach churn and and his hands grow sweaty…

“It’s all spells,” Dipper reported after a moment or two of perusing. “And a lot of different types, too. Conjuration, alchemy, evocation…”

He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “It looks like even some necromancy…”

“And the actual book’s gotta be magic too, right?” Mabel asked. “What happened there when you grabbed it?”

“I don’t know, it was weird. It felt like it was… resisting me? Deciding whether it wanted to let me take it or not? I know how dumb this sounds, but it felt… sentient.”

He let out a small, sheepish laugh. “It might have just been my imagination, though; I —”

The book slammed shut beneath his hands, and he jumped.

“Oh, wow! You sure are a magic book with some real attitude, aren’t you?” Mabel asked it. “Can you do something like that again?”

The book didn’t oblige, lying perfectly still. Waddles waddled up towards it and gave it a sniff, and Dipper yanked it away. “Hey, this isn’t for you! It could be cursed, for all we know.”

“Come one, Dipper, Waddles knows that books are friends and not food! He’s a well-learned gentleman!” Mabel crouched down to give her pig a pat on the head, but almost as soon as she’d laid her right hand on the ground, she grimaced and lifted it back up. Even in the cave’s dim light, Stan could make out the thick layer of dust coating it.

All three of them turned to look where the skeleton had once been, but now the trenchcoat and glasses rested upon a pile of fine gray ash and crumbled bones, having silently spilled out across the cave floor after the removal of the book.

***

A year passes — and then some.

***

“This place has always thrived because of… well, what else? Advertising. We’ve got a few consistent channels — surely you received a brochure in the mail, or saw our billboards, or met someone drawn here by a beam of magical light. Those are just a few tools of the trade, and they served us well during our residency here —”

A smile was creeping across Edward’s face, making less effort with every moment to conceal its sadistic delight.

“But Stanley, I’m sure you know the most successful type of advertising, don’t you?”

“Word of mouth,” Stan instantly replied.

Edward went silent for a moment, as his controlled grin morphed into a wide smile of bared teeth. Next to him, Lydia’s expression mirrored her brother’s.

“Stanley, you landed on ‘Skull’ in the last round, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Why do you —”

“Bad luck.”

Edward tilted his hand ever so slightly, just enough for the Animus Bell to let out an eerie, distorted ring, and Stan instantly felt like the weight of a fully-loaded wagon had struck him in the gut.

The force hurtled him backwards and sent a numbness rushing down his limbs, freezing up all his fingers. The color seeped out of his vision in the blink of an eye, leaving him to stare at the grayscale back of his own body as it stumbled away from the twins, threatening to collapse to the floor — and then caught itself.

“You know,” Stan’s own voice declared, “this place is really starting to grow on me. I think I’m gonna go tell everyone I see about the great deal we got here.”

“Kids?” Stan yelled. “That’s not me! I didn’t say that!”

But his words made no sound no matter how loud he screamed, and Dipper and Mabel’s eyes stayed fixed on Stan’s corporeal form with twin looks of horror.

“Uh, yeah! Sure!” Mabel managed to choke out. “But can we, you know, actually get our prize before we leave? We sure worked hard for that Animus Bell, didn’t we?”

“We sure did, wonderful niece Mabel who I love!” Edward replied from within Stan’s body. His spectral form flickered behind Stan for just a moment, and Lydia appeared by his side, still in the form of an elf. “How about this: I take the bell, and you two can stay here for the rest of eternity — except you’ll get to live! How’s that for an offer?”

“Let them go, you bastard!” Stan roared, and reached out to try to strike at the liches even though he knew he couldn’t hurt them — but instead, he found himself drifting backwards, pulled away from the platform and towards the roof by a force that felt like it was tugging at his heart itself, dragging his soul away no matter how hard he fought, how desperately he tried to reach towards Dipper and Mabel —

He managed to turn himself around, and a hundred yellow-eyed creatures instantly scurried out of sight, but he hardly noticed them. His eyes, his incorporeal form, his entire being — they were drawn to one singular feature of the ethereal plane, a giant X-shaped rift that glowed blue at its boundaries, but led to what seemed like an endless sea of pure midnight black.

Even Stan could piece together what this was — a portal to the astral plane. And if he was drifting into it, that meant he was dying.

For a moment, Dipper thought it was his own hands that were involuntarily shaking in fear — and they easily might have been shaking after all, because he didn’t know if he’d ever felt this afraid and helpless before in his life — but when he looked down, he saw the Journal practically shuddering, as if trying to break out of his tight, panicked grip. He let his fingers relax just slightly, and the Journal immediately fell to the ground right in front of him and flipped open its cover open. Sparks of red electricity lept between the pages as they turned all of their own accord, finally coming to a rest on…

“Magic Jar.” A spell to project your soul out of your own body, and possess another being.

Dipper took a deep breath, and wrapped his fingers around a gemstone in his pocket with one hand while raising his wand with the other.

“Here’s a fucking offer for you,” he growled to the liches. “How about I take my uncle back?”

Mabel cried out as Dipper’s eyes went blank and his body toppled to the ground, but she must have noticed the page the Journal lay open to, because after just a few seconds her panic subsided, and she placed herself between Dipper’s body and the liches, hands crackling with sparks of magic. Dipper took just a moment to breathe a spectral sigh of relief that she’d gotten the message, and began to fly towards Stan —

Except, he could see two Stans now, one corporeal but possessed and the other just a flickering light being drawn towards an inky black sea, towards a portal to a collapsing afterlife. There was no real choice here — he flew towards Stan’s soul as fast as he could, and grabbed ahold of his hand.

Stan’s momentum yanked him forwards, and they nearly both went flying into the rift, but somehow, Dipper brought them both to a halt. Even in his disembodied form, his arms burned with the exertion — but he barely noticed, because all he could think was that Stan was okay. They were going to save him. Stan would be okay.

Stan himself just stared at Dipper with wide eyes, first in shock but then in panic. What if you fall in too?

Dipper smiled, and reached to grab Stan with his other arm. I won’t. I promise.

He didn’t know where the confidence came from, but he felt more certain of it than anything else in the world — except maybe the fact that he and Stan weren’t alone.

The two of them stayed at a stalemate with the astral plane for a few more seconds, no longer falling towards it but unable to fully break away from its pull, and on the other side of the rift, Dipper could see tendrils of blue lightning practically raining down from the sky to strike the tar-like surface of the water. There wasn’t a single deceased soul in sight — just a dark and unrelenting storm, lit by raging bolts of blue.

Somewhere deep within that storm, a single slit-pupiled eye grew wide with glee.

In front of Mabel, the two perplexed-looking liches began to step towards her, but the Journal let out a burst of red electricity, and they recoiled. It slowly flipped open to a new page, then fell perfectly still, and Mabel read the spell it displayed:

“Planar Binding.”

Eyes glowing white and hands surrounded by pink sparks, Mabel turned her back to the liches and lowered her vision into the ethereal plane. It was gray, and harsh, and unfamiliar — Dipper had always been the one who would experiment with dimensional magic, not her — but there were also two figures that she’d recognize anywhere, and she reached out to them with every ounce of warmth and strength she had.

As they pulled away from the rift ever so slowly, Dipper and Stan saw the ethereal plane light up with color. Two bright pink spectral arms stretched out towards them, grabbing one of them in each hand and guiding them back towards the platform where Mabel stood, beaming with relief. The Journal lay at her feet, depleted of energy but just as relieved as her.

***

A lich slowly and deliberately paced around a small room, skeletal six-fingered hands crossed behind his back. Sheets of light brown paper hung from the ceiling like curtains, all of them covered in anxiously scribbled calculations and diagrams — of the Bureau, of the planar system, of the journal he was trapped in. It shouldn’t have been hard to escape from a room with paper for walls, but no matter how many pages he tore down, he always found more sheets behind them to take their place, and the size of his prison never seemed to grow.

Now more than ever, he berated himself — this was no one’s fault but his own. He’d been experimenting with ways to trap a being that had no physical form, but he’d completely forgotten to consider what happened to him whenever he died — more than a little ironic, given how much concentration he would have to put into maintaining his lich form in those early years, how simultaneously fascinated and fearful he’d been of the idea of becoming pure magic. He should have known better, and now who knew what price his family would pay?

Above him, a golden hand cut a translucent window through the red leather ceiling, and through it he could see the telltale flying sparks of a magical duel. He wished desperately, so desperately, that he could help, but he’d already expended so much energy showing the kids the spells and keeping their tormentors at bay while they saved Stan — a worthy cause, for sure, but one that had left him completely exhausted and useless. He would just have to hope they could finish the fight on their own…

A particularly bright flash went off outside, and all of a sudden, the Journal came to life in a way Ford hadn’t felt in years. This was not the way it activated when recording an enemy’s spells, or absorbing their wand — no, this was what happened when a being that made of pure magic down to its very essence was defeated. This was something that hadn’t happened since Ford himself had been trapped here — the complete and total absorption of a lich.

A gust of wind struck him in the face as the pages opened, sucking in a fashionably dressed elf who toppled to the ground right before Ford. He looked disheveled and disoriented, but not afraid.

Not yet, Ford thought to himself himself, as sparks of electricity leapt between his fingers.

“W-who are you?” Edward stammered. “What is this place?”

“Are you the one,” Ford asked with a controlled voice and a tight smile, “who’s been hurting my family out there?”

Edward didn’t answer. “Where are we? How did I get here? How did you get here?”

Ford would never be sure if it was the already-beginning absorption of Edward’s magic, or the sheer rage he felt towards the man who’d possessed his brother, or some combination of both that gave him the surge of energy he felt at that moment — but as he rose up off the brown paper floor, electricity surging through him, there was one thing that he was certain of: he was going to drain this lich of every drop of magic making up that ridiculously gaudy spectral form, and then, one way or another, he and his family were finally going to have a talk.

***

The Journal tumbled across the floor and slammed violently into the ground like it had been pinned down by some invisible force, shooting off more tendrils of lightning that Stan had ever seen it emit before. Lydia tried to grab hold of it, as if hoping she could pry it open to free her brother, but it smacked her in the face, and her form spasmed for a moment as the lightning coursed through it, briefly revealing her true black-cloaked appearance.

Then it thumped to the floor again and opened wide, pages flipping by in a blur as it spat out a charred-looking Edward. He locked eyes — wide, terrified eyes — with his sister, and rasped:

“Remember how dangerous we got, back when we were so desperate to save our little brother?”

Lydia cried out and rushed to his side, but as she grabbed ahold of his arm, he crumbled away, leaving her nothing but a handful of ash.

“I guess we really needed each other after all…” she murmured softly, and her eyes lit up with grey flames. Without a single word, she pointed a finger at Stan’s unconscious body on the runway, and a storm of black magic descended.

Stan instinctively raised one hand to cover nonexistent eyes, and pulled Dipper and Mabel close to him with the other. The wind nearly tossed him away from the kids, but after what felt like minutes but must have been less, the roaring of the storm died down and his vision began to clear…

“Oh no,” he heard Mabel gasp.

Lydia was gone, and so was Stan’s body. His possessions were all strewn about the room, seemingly intact, but his human form was nowhere to be seen — and he couldn’t even bring himself to grieve for it. It was horrible, he knew, but for some reason he was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude, with relief, that he would never again have to see his own face reflected in a mirror.

For just a second, he let out the first few notes of a bitter laugh before catching himself and turning to face the twins, who were staring at him with almost the same level of horror as when Edward had possessed his body.

“Sorry,” he began. “I don’t know what got into me —”

He heard a thump below him, and looked down to find the Journal at his feet. The waves of energy radiating off of it felt more powerful than ever, and it was open to a page Stan had never seen before: a blank page.

Dipper and Mabel stepped back as red sparks danced across the paper, but Stan didn’t move — couldn’t move.

He’s looking at the Journal — no, not the journal. The one Stan’s seeing now has a number written over the hand emblem, and it’s drifting in a tank of viscous-looking fluid as a thin, glowing tentacle slowly wraps around it —

Suddenly back in reality as quickly as he’d been jolted out of it, he fell to his knees. In front of him, he saw the Journal’s red sparks subside — but not without leaving behind a mark. Three short words had been carefully singed onto the page:

ARE YOU OK?

Before Stan could answer, he was somewhere else again.

He’s lying in a field and staring up at the sky, and the side of his jaw hurts like hell. He can tell by the length of his hair that he’s pretty young, and he can tell without having any idea how that there’s someone else lying down next to him, just a few feet away and facing the same direction.

“Are you okay?” that someone asks, and Stan realizes he’s remembered this day before, but every other time he’s thought back to it, the stranger’s voice has been hopelessly garbled by static.

“‘Course I am,” he replies. “Who would there be to always have your back if I wasn’t?”

The other voice chuckles. “Thanks for standing up for me, Stanley.”

They lie there for a few more minutes, just long enough for Stan to notice something else the static has left untouched this time. It’s the two-sunned, light purple sky.

And then he was back.

“I think so,” he answered the Journal. “I… well, I ain’t dead, at least.”

I’M GLAD, it wrote beneath its question. Then it flipped to a new page, and began another message:

HARD TO EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW

PLEASE TRUST ME

OK?

Around them, the remnants of Wonderland went up in black smoke and other competitors began to stumble out of their rooms, but Stan hardly noticed.

“Yeah,” he told the Journal. “I trust you.”

TURN OFF STONES OF FARSPEECH

Dipper and Mabel looked reluctant, but Stan nodded, and they did as the Journal said.

The next message was spread across two pages, and Stan quickly realized it wasn’t truly a message, but a crude drawing. When it was about halfway complete, Dipper gasped. “Isn’t that the Bureau of the Blind Eye?”

The sparks crackled more vigorously for a moment, as if to say Yes. As the map reached completion, an arrow appeared in Fiddleford’s office, pointing to an attached hallway that Stan had never been down.

HERE WE FIND THE ANSWERS YOU DESERVE

***

There’s a knock on the door of Stan’s quarters, and after eighty-two years of living with the same six people on the same ship, he can instantly tell two things about the person waiting outside: one, that it’s Ford, and two, that he’s nervous about something.

“Come in, Sixer,” he calls out, and Ford makes his way inside.

“I have a… weird favor to ask,” he begins.

“With you, that’s every favor,” Stan replies, and Ford smiles sadly.

“This one is weird even by my standards, I’m afraid,” he explains. “And… it’s very important. I’ve been researching some new types of magic — some potentially very dangerous types, I’ll be the first to admit — and trying to develop, well… a sort of failsafe, I suppose. A safety net, to ensure there’s never a cycle where we all die before Bill finds us.”

Stan sighs. He doesn’t like the sound of any of that — doesn’t like the sound of new, dangerous magic, doesn’t like the sound of messing with life and death even more than they already have — but just one glance at the stubborn, determined look in Ford’s eyes tells him that he doesn’t have a chance of convincing his brother otherwise.

“Well, I’m not gonna lie, whatever you’re planning is probably gonna scare the shit outta me, but it sounds like it’s for a noble goal and all. What’s the favor?”

Ford tries to hide it, but Stan can tell that he lets out a sigh of relief.

“I need you to help me have the best day ever…”

***

Stan was thrown backwards into the barricade of furniture pushed up against the door, and his newly cloned body ached as he struggled to get to his feet again. His assailant — one of several shadowy humanoid figures, all of them devoid of color except for their sickly yellow eyes and the cold blue flames that wreathed their hands — turned away from him and faced Mabel, who bravely stood her ground alongside Waddles as a dozen of the shadows advanced towards her.

Time slowed down to an agonizing crawl, and Stan could tell there was no way he’d make it to Mabel’s side fast enough to help her. And it wasn’t just Mabel — the rest of the room’s occupants were in equally dire straits. Wendy was holding her ground against two robotic-looking shadows, but had backed into a corner, while Candy stood over an injured Grenda, desperately launching bolts of lightning that grew weaker with each volley. Fiddleford had expanded his barrier spell to protect Soos, but it seemed to sap all of his energy and concentration, and his eyes were completely unfocused as he gazed out at the battle unfolding in front of him.

And Dipper — poor Dipper was lying limp on the ground next to Stan, clinging to consciousness and having let go of…

The Journal.

It tumbled end over end, and rolled to Stan’s side with a familiar determination. Just like he had many so times before throughout the last year, Stan could make out his own face reflected in the golden hand emblem —

Except this time, he recognized it. This time, he remembered.

Stan ripped the Journal in half down its spine, and the room exploded.

Sheets of paper went flying — so many more sheets than the Journal could have possibly contained, so many more pages and so many more spells — and they swirled around the column of blue fire in the center of the room, encircling it and climbing higher and higher and higher still until they reached the storm above. It was a tornado of knowledge, a cyclone formed from all the extensive magical experience of one very old, very brilliant, very angry —

author

scientist

wizard

necromancer

lich

friend

uncle

brother

— who had been imprisoned for so long, alone for so long, unable to protect his family for so long, and was now finally seizing the chance take matters into his own six-fingered hands once again.

Starting from the bottom of the column and racing upwards like a lit fuse, the spells began to ignite. Fireworks of a hundred different colors and elements consumed Bill’s flames — bolts of yellow lightning and plumes of red fire, downpours of sizzling acid and spears of silvery ice, dark clouds of necromantic energy and plagues of swarming insects — all forming one beautiful symphony of magical energy, a display of spellcasting brilliance that Stan had dearly missed fighting alongside. Papers swirled around him too, he realized, as well as around the other Bureau members, but these pages only gave off a soft, warm light, healing their wounds and shielding them from the biting winds that surged throughout the room.

The spells consolidated together into a single column of crackling red electricity, a beam that shot straight up as it intensified, burning away at the clouds of Bill’s storm — and then it was gone, and in its place in the center of the room floated a skeletal figure, trench coat billowing in the wind and sparks leaping off his glasses.

He turned to face Stan, and for just a moment, the image of his living human face flickered around his skull, smile wide and eyes teary with relief.

“Good to see you in one piece, Stanley,” Ford told him, and Stan nearly cried, because even despite all the necromancy and affronts against nature that had brought them here, his brother’s voice still sounded exactly how he remembered it.

He heard Candy and Grenda — the only two people in the room not to have been in the IPRE — gasp with surprise and confusion.

“What? Who is that?” Candy asked, and Stan smiled.

“The Author of the Journal — my brother.”

Thanks for reading, feedback/reblogs are appreciated a lot! A couple notes:

1. I had Mabel use Planar Binding instead of Planar Ally because I see her as a bard (thanks @apathetic-revenant for that suggestion!), and kind of fudged the details of the spell a bit to make it work (though canon has fudged the details of spells enough times that I don’t feel bad about it).

2. I couldn’t figure out a Gravity Falls character that could plausibly fill in for Barry Bluejeans, so the ending of The Suffering Game is a bit different here, with Ford leading them through their infiltration of the moonbase. Stan’s new body was cloned by the Handwitch from a fingernail clipping (she tried to get him to give her his actual hands, but they reached a compromise).

I don’t have any plans to write more of this crossover in the immediate future, but if you have questions about how you imagine a certain arc or character being handled in this AU, shoot me an ask! I’d love to talk about it!

#stanley pines #stanford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #taz #taz balance #gravity falls #crossover #rosalia writes fic #i can't believe this is my longest oneshot #gf x taz #gf x balance

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umbraastaff · 5 years

Note

first and pov from that meme?

[The first two sentences of my current project]

Even with their names under his belt, it takes Kravitz another year and some lucky coincidences to track down Barry’s former companions. And when he finds them, you know, he really isn’t expecting them to actually be worse than Barry.

[Something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective.]

from chapter 1 of I Saw Seven Bounties:

“What’s the plan?”

It was Davenport’s favorite line, when they were back on the Starblaster. He said it every time he started a discussion on what to do next, and over time, it became an automatically calming phrase. A room full of panicking crew members would hear it and instantly calm down, ready to guide each other and work through the problem.

The phrase ended up being used even when Davenport wasn’t around, and it was still a rock that kept them stable. A landmark of familiarity and truth and togetherness.

Now Barry is alone, and he whispers the phrase to his own reflection in the dark glass below. “What’s the plan?”

It straightens out his thoughts just a little, at the least. But it hurts, too. The absence of his family aches in his heart.

But they’ll be back. He’s going to find them if it kills him again. He’ll find Lup, and then they’ll track down Lucretia and make her use the voidfish to give everyone’s memories back. That’s the plan.

Barry feels a presence behind him–something strange. He spins around to face it.

The figure is humanoid, at the least, and fairly regular looking. There’s something off about him. Best be friendly; if the man is anything odd, Barry could use an ally far more than an enemy. “Ah, oh, man. Hey, are you– are you lost? Or– or maybe looking for something?” He gestures outwards. “Because, look, trust me, everything here’s glass. Unless, uh, you’re here for the glass? I mean, it’s cool if that’s your deal, but–”

“It’s not,” the man cuts in. He steps forward, closing the distance between them. He sounds like he’s trying to be dangerous, but… he doesn’t feel dangerous. Definitely something unsettling about him, though. “I’m here for you.”

That catches Barry off-guard. The guy doesn’t seem like any typical sort of undead. And if there’s anything in this world that could be traced back to him, it’s probably the creation of the Animus Bell, the knowledge of which was erased from existence. “Are you sure you have, uh… the right person?”

“Absolutely.” He speaks with cold, confident certainty. Barry resists the urge to back up again. “You’ve been charged with avoiding death via necrotic means, creation and takeover of living bodies beyond permissible minion necromancy, and no less than twenty-six deaths that were not followed by a trip to the Astral Plane.”

Barry lets confusion over the ‘deaths’ part take over any worry he might have over the ‘charged’ part. “Twenty-six? Oh, wow, how do you know about– are you undead too? I only ask ‘cause most living people can’t even, uh, can’t think about that.” He pauses. “Which, you know what, that sounds ominous, sorry.” Best not make this man even more agitated than he already is.

The man takes a very long time to respond, an oddly calculating look on his face. But like, the confused kind. The sort Davenport gets when he walks into a room on April Fools’ day knowing that a prank is coming, but nothing has happened yet, and he’s trying to figure it out.

Barry coughs awkwardly. He can still save this situation. “How about– why don’t we start over? I’m, I’m Barry Bluejeans, and I’m trying to– I’m helping my friends and preventing the- the- the end of the world.”

The man looks skeptical, then annoyed, and then his eyes darken and he raises his chin. “I am Kravitz, a reaper under the Raven Queen’s order, and it is my job to prevent you from destroying the world with your delusions.” Then his skin melts away to reveal a skeletal form, and an enormous scythe appears in his hands.

“Shit, really? Shit.” It explains a bit, at least. He’s not a lich, but he must technically quality as undead because of his status. “This world has– there’s death police here? That’s– that’s gonna be inconvenient.” He sees Kravitz’s anger at the statement, and feels a little bad, but it’s true. He and Lup haven’t had to deal with something like this for over a decade, and back then, he at least had her help.

But now he’s alone. The tension within him manifests into red, crackling sparks dancing over his form, and he’s faintly aware that the wind picking up around them is being caused by his own magic. The plan, he chides himself, Stick to the plan. He can’t afford to panic here.

“God, I hate– I’m really not a fan of- of messin’ with people just doing their jobs,” Barry says, letting a casual, friendly tone disguise his worries. He focuses his tension into Kravitz’s area instead, carefully raising the heat as the reaper approaches. He lets the lightning on his own form arc ever higher and brighter; it makes for a convenient distraction, keeping Kravitz’s attention on Barry rather than himself.

The air gets denser and hotter until Kravitz makes his swing, and Barry jumps back just enough. He feels a rift open where the blade nicks his robe, and in that instant, he uses the heat to redirect the portal into the Plane of Fire.

From there, it’s easy. Kravitz gets mesmerized by the flames. Barry takes the opportunity to draw on the other Plane’s energy, readying a fun and horrible trick Lup liked to call “heartburn.”

It’s technically a very short-term version of what would otherwise be a dangerous, major-league curse. It links the victim’s soul to fire itself, filling their every sensation with a horrid burning that, given a longer time to work, could eat through their very existence from the inside. And Barry has access to the most prominent source of fire there is–a whole Plane full of it–right next to Kravitz’ soul.

Barry doesn’t even have to give this one a timer; the portal to the Plane of Fire will wear out within the next few seconds without him or the scythe sustaining it. Keeping himself from looking at Kravitz, who is making unconscious, pained wheezing noises, Barry readies a teleport spell and uses it to escape.

#ask #the adventure zone #taz balance #my writing #issb commentary #hm. i just. rewrote the entire chapter. okay #anonymous #fic commentary #mine

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miamaroo · 5 years

Text

Northern Migration- Chapter 26 (Notes + Preview)

I hope you’re having a good holiday season, because I am currently lost in the sauce and I don’t know how to get back up. Either way, we’re going to be updating this a little bit sooner than I really should because I need the validation or something like that. Huh. Remember that this right here is brimming with a whole heck of a lot of spoilers, so beware!

Spoilers!

I am in the very unique position of being the only TAZ writer who has no idea how to write Angus. I definitely have his speech patterns pretty incorrect, like I’m certain he does not sound half as formal as I’m writing him to be. I think the problem is that since Stevie is the immature, pseudo-realistic 10 year old character, putting a cartoony genius character of the same age in the same story feels off. Now the solution to that would be to adjust Angus’s character so that he’s also more childlike, but I guess I’m just in too deep now to change anything.

I could probably get away with claiming that his formalness is a defense mechanism for being in a situation where he doesn’t feel safe. Whether I go with that reasoning or not has yet to be determined.

Shoving in a mention of Brian as someone who tried uncovering information about the Grand Relics was probably the least smooth I’ve ever been with these kinds of things.

I think in another like, Stevie would like Angus as a human being and would probably enjoy having him as a friend. As it stands now, she’s a bit too wound up by everything to not be on the defensive at all times.

Also shoutout to everyone who thought Stevie was swearing out Taako. Nope, it’s another ten year old!

And if I haven’t already butchered Angus enough, I will also concede that him realizing that they aren’t evil enough to agree to team up with them was also done really poorly. I will probably find some chapter in the future where that switch in perspective is explored more deeply.

Bane’s still relevant. Just in case you forgot.

So after 26 chapters, I’m finally giving Killian some love and attention. The upcoming arc is going to deal a lot with her past and how she came upon her mission to get rid of the Grand Relics, so I’m super excited for what’s to come. I still wish I had enough sense to squeeze more about her in sooner, but to tell the truth, there have been a few times where she’s vaguely mentioned a key part of her backstory that I don’t think anyone has really caught onto yet. I think it’s going to be fun to learn the complete tale and just be like “huh. that’s why she brought that up.”

As before mentioned in an earlier chapter, Killian forgot Brian so the person in her past she’s struggling to pin a name to is him.

Carey’s here and still relevant! I would not be a good TAZ writer if I didn’t let these two girls get together. Considering how much of this story I have left and hundred other plot threads I’m tackling, I’m probably not going to get them to the marriage level by the end, but goddamnit am I going to try to get them as far along as I can!

I’m also really bad at flirting in general, so who even knows if Killian and Carey’s flirting is as cute and awkward as I think it is.

Barry is not capable of growing a beard, but he can swing a mustache. The problem is that it always looks like a pornstache and everyone hates it.

That is Ren’s canonical last name, according to the Mysterious Package Company’s Taako’s School bundle.

Everything about the moon is a case study of how not to be subtle about worldbuilding, but I’ll be damned if I was just gonna dump like 500 words down the drain.

And I need to stop writing song lyrics. This is not a musical and I’m not good at them.

I think Barry is this weird combination of being calculating because he can perceive a lot about others but also awkward because he’s not really aware of how much more perceptive he is than the average person. He’s a smart dude and kinda forgets that not everyone is on his level.

I have big plans for Johann for the future of this fic, so I’m trying to start pushing him and his emotional journey to the forefront, meaning that I can now start addressing questions like how does Johann feel about being rescued in part by someone he cognitively knows is one of the bad guys.

A lot of people have rightly been asking me why Julia and Davenport haven’t tried to undo the damage Wonderland caused via the Oculus. I am willing to admit that I initially figured that my reasoning with the broken bonds was obvious, but naturally I realized that I was wrong. I was super duper wrong. So here’s your in universe explanation.

For those who wants an explanation not through the lense of Merle: the Animus Bells breaks bonds, and since the Oculus can’t repair those bonds (especially with how thoroughly Edward and Lydia approached these things), any attempts of recreating missing limbs will ultimately not work. So for Davenport’s hand, the bond that allows Davenport to have a right hand is broken, so no hand can be added to his right side. Technically, can he give himself a gun for a hand? Yes, but let’s not.

This chapter is a little weird because it has Davenport using texts to convey his thoughts, as a general note, I am having a fun time trying to figure out what body language I can give him that conveys what dialogue would normally do. In a way, it’s a fun writing exercise.

Davenport’s emotional recovery is going to be an up and down battle, but at least he’s starting it.

I came up with Merle’s speech at the end there all the way back before I even had that scene with a possessed Taako taunting Julia in the bar. And I’ve been hanging onto it for so long, just waiting for the moment I could write it down here and get it out of my system. And I’m just happy that it exists on paper now and I can stop worrying that I’m going to forget parts of it.

Hopefully, I’ll be ready to update again either before the New Years or just in time for the one year anniversary of this fic. I honestly can’t believe that I’ve really been working on this for so long, and I hope that this thing will be finished before we see birthday number 2.

Here’s the preview of the next chapter:

Chin balanced on hand, Taako leans into the table and watches the scene before him break down—Angus, trying to heave a stack of books to the chalkboard Lucretia had set up in the kitchen while Stevie blocks his path. Both of them are tiny little twerps, but Stevie rocks onto the tips of her toes, holding the flat of her hand to the tip of her head as she tries to measure herself to Angus. “C’mon,” she whines. “I just wanna check!”

“Please— I have very important work I need to be doing right this moment,” Angus says, trying to look over the topmost book on the stack. His glasses threaten to fall off his nose.

Stevie jams her hand on top of his head, trying to keep him pinned in place. “Stop moving!”

Angus leans over, giving the nearest adult a pleading look. Considering that Lucretia went with Davenport to look for a few documents in his office, that meant Taako. “Um, please sir? A little hand?”

“Yeah!” Stevie crosses her arms over her chest, puffing out her chest in a huff. “You judge. Who’s taller?”

Rolling his eyes, Taako slinks to his feet. “Alright. If it gets you two to shut up already. Get back to back…” Angus puts his books down, making sure to stand with his back as straight as possible as Stevie practically bounces in her places. Taako circles them like a shark, finger on chin as he hums. “Hmm, this is a tough one.” They’re fairly close in height, but Taako knows which answer he should give if he wants the max amount of entertainment for the next few days. But when he places his hand on their heads, he realizes he doesn’t even need to lie.

He hides his grin, trying to look pensive as he steeples his fingers over his mouth. “I see.”

Stevie is all but buzz, trying to get her own hand in a position that shows the height difference that she can also see. “Spill it! Who’s taller?”

“There’s no easy way of saying this, but it looks like Angelo here just the tinniest, uh, slimmest bit taller.”

“It’s Angus, sir,” Angus chimes.

Stevie freezes. “Huh? No way!” She twists between him and Angus, frustration building on her face. “But—but—but I’ve always been the tallest in my class!”

[...]

Angus stares at her for a long moment, blinking as he puzzles through his situation. Taako can practically see the math around his head melt away the moment the lightbulb goes off. “Oh, I get it!” Angus grins, pointing a finger up like a real nerd. “You’re jealous I get to help while you’re still grounded.”

Stevie stares.

“Don’t worry,” Angus rambles, reaching for his stacks of books once more. “I’m sure you’ll get the opportunity to help in due time, though I’m not sure where since, while I don’t know you well, I get the sense that you don’t have any particular skills that could aid us—”

Stevie jumps onto him, tackling Angus into his stack of books.

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creednight · 6 years

Text

Death with Dignity

Inspired by the song of the same name by Sufjan Stevens. The meaning doesn’t exactly fit, but the song just makes me feel so many emotions. Inspired by this post!! It’s really long, just a warning, and angsty. I love afterlife stuff and will probably do more for this, but I wanted to get this one out. Also, as a point of reference, Edward is the age he is in AC 4, Haytham: AC3, Ezio: Revelations, Connor: Post AC3 and Altair AC 1.

The buzzing stopped moments after it started, but Desmond’s body still feels like it’s vibrating. He remembers lights and a searing heat traveling up his arm, a loud booming sound, the buzzing and now this silence.

Are his eyes open? Yes, it’s just dark.

“H-hello?” he calls out into the black sea while walking forward.

Walking? He glances down to see his body in his usual garb, that’s a relief. Is this Heaven? Hell? Do Assassins go to a special in between?

Up ahead he spots a white light and makes his way towards it. The sound of footsteps fades in and the light seems to rush towards him. He shields himself, bringing his arms up as he’s engulfed by light and warmth.

Once again, he opens his eyes and is met with a garden. It looks familiar, a memory nags at the back of his head as he steps around the rows of crops towards a house on the other side of the field. He feels a sense of warmth bloom in his chest as he approaches.

The house is two stories built with some kind of light brown stones with an old wooden pergola attached to one side of the house. Desmond recognizes this style from Ezio’s memories. It hits him like a train and he stumbles into one of the support beams of the pergola.

“Easy there, mate,” a voice calls as a body flanks Desmond’s side. He glances up into the blue eyes of a blond man and frowns. “God?” The man barks a laugh and pats his back hard. “Nah, I’m more like the devil ‘imself actually.” “Who are you then? Where the hell am I?” Desmond stands up and takes a step away from this man. He stares at him longer, watching as the man’s blue eyes grow soft looking at him. Realization dawns on him and he exhales. “You’re the pirate.” “Aye, I’m Edward Kenway, captain of the Jackdaw,” he puts out a hand. When Desmond takes it he pulls him in and wraps an arm around his neck with one arm and ruffles his hair with the other. “An’ you’re Desmond, ain’t ye? We’ve been waitin’ for ya!”

“Wait what?” Desmond takes a step back, his arms up as if to hold Edward in place. “I’m dead, right?”

“Aye, thas’ right,” Edward nods as if it should be obvious.

“Then where am I? What do you mean ‘we’?”

Waving his arm inwards, Edward grins at the boy. “Come on, you’ll see. Yes, you are dead, but you’re home now.”

“Home?”

There’s no reply as Desmond is brought around the house to an open courtyard with a large table set and full of food. Music plays from somewhere in the background and suddenly Desmond doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. The burning pain he felt moments ago, the buzzing he heard is all gone. It almost feels like the animus...

“Ah, Desmond,” a deep voice calls.

Desmond turns to see a younger than expected Haytham, maybe in his thirties at this point, dressed in Assassin’s attire despite his turnover later in life. For a second, Desmond feels bitter, after having been through Connor’s life; it’s a struggle to be able to face this Kenway. Haytham holds out his hand and offers a wry smile.

“I understand your emotions, but what’s done is done,” he reasons and then grins when Desmond accepts his hand. “We’re here now.”

“I’ll think about it,” the younger assassin shrugs his shoulder before turning to see another figure show up. This time he grins and sticks his hand out. “Ratonhnhaketon, it’s an honor.”

The Native American smiles at Desmond, his hair is longer and pull back out of his face. He looks much older than his twenties and is dressed in his traditional assassin’s robes. His girth is intimidating close up and Desmond fully understands why some Templars shrank away from him in the Animus.

“The honor is mine,” Connor shakes his hand then reaches up to grasp his shoulder and pull him closer to the table. “There are plenty of people here to meet you.”

“Oh?” Desmond feels himself relax and more figures begin to appear in the courtyard.

He recognizes some from the database, other people his ancestors knew, other assassin’s who have made their mark in the Brotherhood. Others he doesn’t, he never did read too much into the database, preferring to just use what was needed. Man, he wishes Shaun and Rebecca were here...

“Why the long face?” Connor pauses in his tracks when Desmond’s face crumples up a fraction.

“M-my friends... my dad...” he stammers and wipes at his face with the heel of his hand. “I did this to protect them a-and...”

“It’s alright, lad,” Edward comes up on Desmond’s left and offers him a pat on the back. “We all understand the sacrifices you put in and what ya lost along the way. It’s going to hurt for a while, it’ll get better.”

With a nod, Desmond shakes off the grief to make it through this strange party. Connor resumes in bringing him over when a tall, not taller than Connor, figure comes up. He recognizes the man and nearly falls to his knees.

Ezio Auditore dressed in the robes from his time in Masyaf, gazes at Desmond with a slight smile and bright eyes. The two gaze at each other, Desmond cannot fathom this moment. Having relieved this man’s memories for so long, dealing with his pain and his happiness, so much so he couldn’t tell himself apart from him makes this moment so surreal. Finally, the italian reaches up with both hands and grasps Desmond’s shoulders.

“For all those years I never understood that message, you were the one,” his voice is deep and it rattles Desmond. “It is nice to finally meet you, Desmond. Desmond, it’s you.”

“E-ezio...” Desmond is speechless and damn he hates himself for it. What kind of man is he? “Shit. I don’t know what to say.”

Ezio’s booming laughter fills the courtyard. “Come sit, we will find the words together.”

Ezio takes the spot across from Desmond with Connor sitting on the younger man’s left and Edward on his right. One by one the crowd takes a seat and Desmond watches as the table fits everyone comfortably as they converse with one another. He gazes at all the faces in awe.

“I’m not related to everyone here am I?” he wonders out loud.

“Not necessarily,” Ezio explains while piling some food on his plate. “These are all of those in and associated with the Brotherhood...”

“Federico? Claudia? Is that Petruccio?” Desmond feels his heart ache at the sight of Ezio’s family. He remembers the depression he went through trying to sift through Ezio’s grief that was messing with his head. The deaths of the Italian’s brothers and father haunted him for a long time.

Ezio grins as his family materializes on his left, Desmond’s right. They grin at him, all of them looking more mature than when he last saw them. Federico wasn’t frozen in his early twenties from his death. He’s grown into a man, strong jaw, five o’clock shadow and elegant hair. He’s supposed to be older than Ezio, but his appearance is that of a thirty year old.

Petruccio is in his twenties, he’s still got his boyish looks about him, but it’s charming. Obviously an Auditore with that smile and lean muscled build. He would have made a fine assassin had he lived.

Claudia had grown up in the Brotherhood, her eyes are sharp and focused. Her lips, even while curled into a smile is dangerous. She’s beautiful and dressed in a deep red dress with cream ribbons in her hair.

“I see the Auditore genes run strong in your family,” Ezio comments with a grin, eyeing Desmond’s beard.

The young man raises a brow. “I mean, I did get some girls in my time too.”

“Unfortunately, he is most like you, Brother,” Claudia snorts.

“Nonsense, he clearly looks like me,” another voice interrupts and Desmond whips his head up to see Altair standing there with Maria Thorpe at his side and their two sons behind them.

Everyone at the table greets the new arrivals with a slight bow of their heads and smiles. Desmond stands up, unable once again to find the words when faced with Altair. He’s gonna punch himself in the face for being this fucking stupid in front of his ancestors. Who is he? Shaun?

“Look at his face, Altair,” Ezio gestures to him. “Clearly me.”

“His eyes,” Altair gestures while grinning at Desmond. “Me.”

“You all look the same,” Connor butts in with a flat tone.

This diffuses the argument as laughter bursts around the entire table. Desmond takes a seat as Altair and his family fills in the spot on the other side of Ezio. Dinner commences then and while Desmond has a long path of grief to go along he can’t help but feel good being surrounded by all his ancestors. They’ve been through the war he just got out of, they’ve seen the horrors and felt the losses. He’s here with them now and he can only wait and see what comes next.

#Original writing #Inspired by prompt #this was so much fun #I actually took a lot of time on it but its still not my best work #hope you guys enjoy it tho #Assassins creed #Desmond Miles #long post

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stillpartofthisworld · 6 years

Text

The next part of my fix for @inkedinserendipity ’s hit! Find the first part i wrote here, and her and @lichlesbian ’s collab to fix it here!

The next thousand years are devoid of colour.

He throws himself into his work, pulling decade long shifts until the Queen would pull his soul into her arms, caressing his trembling resolve (Patience, my Emissary. He’ll be here soon-).

The bounties he seeks all blur together until he doesn’t remember how many he’s brought in begging on their knees, doesn’t remember them tearing at his coat as they scream why do you do this, why don’t you understand- as he plucks their souls from their bodies. There are few that stand out to him-usually elves, all braided hair and shimmering eyes as they pick up on his falter, trying to win their freedom with the promise of their acceptance, their love, their bodies, (They never do).

The few who slip his grasp are the ones who look up at him, determination written on their faces as they face off against him one last time. Don’t you see? They’ll say as they slip to the ground. I did it for love.

(It’s those ones that find themselves not locked in the Eternal Stockade, but on the edges of an iridescent beach as someone whispers behind them “Honey?”)

He gambles, sometimes, with burly dead men who only seek to protect those around them and loses, smiling thinly as he allows them to make one final stand to save the ones they love before he takes them again. He holds conversations with those who find themselves subject to the wrath of the sea, allowing them to say farewell to their families in exchange for hearing tales of adventure. He lets lovers pass within months of one another, guiding them towards each other in the discordant sea of souls. He finds ways to pass the time.

He rests, and when he rests he dreams, his mind blessing (cursing) him with visions of Taako smiling, of Taako cooking, of Taako in his arms as he whispers I could never forget you, of Taako walking away on a dirt road.

The wait is long, and the wait is hell.

And then the Light falls.

Do not go to them, Kravitz. Do not interfere with their fate. There will be a necessary betrayal.

I understand, my Queen.

(A month later and he’s following an elf draped in a crimson red robe as he strides through a town, thumbing a stone that looks as plain as a river rock before chucking it into a well. He sticks to the shadows, slinking behind him several paces away and watching him Teleport back to the Starblaster. He’s not interfering, he tells himself. He’s just looking, and that’s alright.)

The Relic Wars begin and Kravitz is busier than ever, herding away lost souls and taking down those who try to use war as a cover for their plots. The Animus Bell moves from cult to cult faster than he can claim it (To be fair, he ain’t trying) and ends up disappearing at the end of the war, leaving him worried but thankful that he doesn’t have to deal with another necrotic mess (He is going to give Barry a long, hard talking to when they finally meet.).

He sometimes sees Taako planetside, walking idly through streets or sipping a mimosa in an empty bar. He watches him from the shadows, hanging on to his every hair flip, every tilted smile. He gets to see Taako, gets to count down the days until they meet, and that is enough.

And then one day it isn’t.

He sees Taako again near what he knows to be the end of The Relic Wars, alone in a pub in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The guilt has hardened him, leaving him with hollowed cheeks and dark eyes that close as the people around him discuss Relic after Relic after Relic and the deaths attributed to them. He looks tired, so gods damn tired that Kravitz steps out of the shadows instinctively, years of marriage and longing urging him to wrap his arms around his wispy form, lips in his hair to tell him It’s alright, you’ll be alright and he’s already halfway across the bar when he realizes what he’s doing.

He changes tact quickly, moving instead to the small stage in the back of the bar. He’s glamoured, dressed like he was in his youth save for the quick flick of a smile that died with his mortality. He picks up a violin-smaller than what he’s used to, but it will do-and sits on a stool. And then he starts to play.

A thousand years devoid of colour, but not of music.

He had composed furiously through the centuries, the old man part of him fighting to keep the last shred of humanity that was creativity from slipping away. He wrote battle songs and hymns, he wrote ditties and ballads, he wrote, he wrote-

He wrote about Taako.

He plays a piece that he wrote right after his death, after the haze of remembering and becoming an Emissary faded from his mind. It was a small song, just a few lines of notes and measures, but there was love in every line of ink, longing in every stroke.

He plays after a thousand years of waiting, and when he’s done the love of his unlife is staring right at him.

There’s a brief moment of awkward silence between the two of them before Kravitz, drawing from his sixty years of life, shoots him a half cocked smile.

“Not even a copper, hm?” He brings out his accent, drawing out the vowels as rural folk often do. Something he managed to remember, even after a millennia of being in the Queens service.

“Uh,” Taako says, and slams down the last of his drink. “Yeah, that was some, uh, fine-ass playing, my dude.” He too has an accent, one not cultivated in Faerun. He wonders how long it took him to get rid of it, to assimilate in order to survive.

“Not from around here?” he asks.

“Um,” Taako says.

He — Taako’s hair is short, a short blond halo around his face, and he doesn’t have a hat. Kravitz has never seen him like this.

“No, I’m, uh…no. Not from around here. Caravan-hopping, y’know?”

It’s a weak lie, but Kravitz accepts it with a shrug. “Tough to stay in one place, these days. What’s your name, stranger?”

“Taako.” He smiles thinly, offering an unadorned hand. He hesitates before taking it, throwing the Queens caution into the wind. His hand is warm enough anyway, his newborn heart keeping it at room temperature.

“Nice to meet ya. My name’s K-”ohshitshitshit i can’t tell him “Keats.” ( A name from a boy long passed, dying surrounded by a family that mourned him more deeply than he’s ever witnessed before. Ironic.

“Well, Keats,” Taako says. “That was some baller playing.”

“Why, thank you. And, may I say,” He smirks, his cockiness as a youth bubbling to the surface. “You have great taste in music.”

Taako smiles, a real smile, bared fangs and all and it makes his heart stop all together.

“Cocky, are we?”, and Kravitz’s smirk just grows. “You want to, uh…you gonna do that the rest of your life?”

“Well, I’d love to conduct,” He says and it’s like he’s having two conversations at once, one in a bar in the middle of a war and another in the middle of a dirt road in the middle of a rural town. “I hope I can, anyway. It’s a bit hard to find people who want to listen to music when…” He waves a hand around. “But…I’m trying.”

“I think you’ll make it,” Taako says and his face is unreadable. “I…I think you could swing it. You’ve…you’ve got talent.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Yeah. Look, I gotta — I gotta go, but, uh, keep it up, okay?” He stands abruptly, earrings clinking loudly as he kicks his chair back under the table with one leg. He tosses a small coin bag on the table “For the music, my guy” and makes a beeline for the door.

He wants to run after him, to warn him Lup is going to leave tonight, Lucretia is going to- but he stops, catches himself, and sits back down He lets him go, because he loves him.

He loves him, and so he does not stop the world from burning under his feet.

#taakitz #taz fic #the adventure zone fanfic #taako #kravitz #taako and kravitz #layla writes #thanks seren

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starspatter · 6 years

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I think you should do ALL THE ASKS :D

WELL ALL RIGHT THENA - Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.1) DCAU TimSteph2) ItsuHaru3) Logan x Diana Prince4) Itsuki Koizumi x Kyouya OotoriB - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.*looks at WonderWolf and SuperBats*C - A ship you have never liked and probably never will.BatCat. Even back when I wasn’t a fan of Batman I remember I read one DCAU comic involving Catwoman, and her character just didn’t appeal to me.D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t.Any Kagepro ships tbh. Idk I’m just not really invested in the romance of the series. I prefer them all as friends/platonic.E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what?Ahaha… I’ve contributed a fair bit of Kagecrack through vids/posts, though I think my favorite are these BTAS crossover edits.Also Kyorange and Skitzo!Kyon for TMoHS. (Plus the “genderbent cast is the previous generation” theory if that counts?)F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom?Well I’ve been a Pokémon fan since elementary school. While I no longer watch the show/play the games, I still follow the new generations and RP on occasion.G - Have you ever had an OTP? If so, do you remember your first one? Who was in it?Eeyup. While I don’t ship too often, when I do I ship HARD. ItsuHaru was my first real “obsessive” OTP, but I think the honor for the *very* first ship I had goes to… Cody x Ken from Digimon S2, in a sense. *shot* ^^; Idk I was just really focused on the idea of them making up and becoming “friends”. XP Though I also shipped Ken with Kari too bc of the Dark Ocean stuff. (Also Gary Oak x Molly Hale from Pokémon but that’s a whole other story. >.>; )H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., TV shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.)?I’m still mostly a weeb so animu is my go-to, but I’ve been branching out to more Western stuff lately. (Although when it comes to Kagepro the songs are still the best medium. =3=)I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?Steven Universe. While I still love the show, hearing about all the toxicity in the fandom really turned me off so I just try to avoid it.J - Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.)Again, Steven Universe. Also Over the Garden Wall and Bojack Horseman (the former of which I still really recommend you see).K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?I’m also gonna say Sunset Shimmer from Equestria Girls. She went from being a seemingly one-off villain to a fully redeemed good guy and leader in her own right. Though she still has her insecurities, it lets her relate to and help others in the same situation to not let those feelings of inadequacy or jealousy overcome them.Also Midna from Twilight Princess. Her change of heart from servicing her own needs to selfless sacrifice after observing how hard Link tried to save others mirrors my own feelings when I met Link in OoT/MM and watched him grow into a true hero, working to help both the people of Hyrule and Termina even when he had no obligation or was openly blamed for Ganon’s rise to power.L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves. (Characters you’re neutral about are fair game, as are characters you merely dislike. Characters that you absolutely loathe with the fire of ten thousand suns are exempt, as there is no point in giving yourself an aneurysm over a character that you hate.)So I’m not a big fan of Dick Grayson in the DCAU (or any of his animated adaptations aside from Lego Batman; his YJ version being especially egregious) since I see him as rather childish and bad at dealing with conflict, but he’s admittedly a lot better in the tie-in comics, which give him some much needed development as Nightwing (whereas he barely got any screentime in TNBA). There he acts as a genuine big brother to Tim, and is shown to not be as nearly as bitter at Bruce as the Old Wounds ep would have one believe. I also like that they highlight Dick’s fondness for music, wherein his musical knowledge actually comes in handy to solve a couple cases.M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.All of the Mekakushi Dan, SOS Brigade, or Host Club tbhN - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).1) More Kagepro content in general2) More DCAU TimSteph 3) More ItsuHaru

O - Choose a song at random. Which ship or character does it remind you of?Growing Up - Run River NorthDefinitely a Timmy Todd/TimSteph song now that I think about it. Especially the lines “I found my way without your help, with a broken family” and “monsters in my head”. ;(P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).…Tbh I’m really liking the “Legion x Ouran” idea lately. XD *shot*Q - A fandom you’ve abandoned and why.Hm… I don’t think there are any I’ve really “abandoned”, per se. Most of them are still there, just not at the forefront anymore.R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?All the relationships in Kagepro *shot*S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)Molly Hale from the third movie is the god of the Pokémon world. Just… don’t ask lol.T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?Already answered, but I’ll add a few of my favorites for DCAU TimSteph:1) Tim cuts his own hair after RotJ (or rather just lets it grow long) since he doesn’t trust anyone else with sharp objects around him. Steph is the first person he allows to trim his hair for him (even though she has no experience with it either), since I imagine him feeling comfortable enough around her that he even falls asleep like Sousuke does with Chidori in Full Metal Panic! The Second Raid. (For context, he was raised as a soldier from an early age and this is what happened when they tried to take him to a salon. Played for laughs, but probably an accurate portrayal of people suffering from anxiety/PTSD having to deal with mundane tasks that trigger them.)

2) Similarly, Steph plays piano to help calm Tim down whenever he’s having a panic attack.3) After RotJ Tim refuses to wear red for a long time until Steph knits him a red scarf and tells him it “suits him” bc red is the color of heroes.

As an aside, I also recently like the idea that Logan was at Lex’s party in the DCEU and saw Bruce and Diana together, based on this playlist that I made. U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.Gonna talk about a few I don’t mention too often nowadays.

1) Link from The Legend of ZeldaLink will forever be my greatest true love. He’s the first real “hero” I believed in, and he honestly changed my life at one point to actually want to be a better person. While that faith has faded and I don’t think I can ever reach his example, I still wish I had that kind of courage and kindness - or at least be able to inspire others in the same way he did me.2) Meroko Yui from Full Moon wo SagashiteIf Link was the first (and only) person I ever truly fell in love with, Meroko was the one who taught me what “true love” was in the first place. I won’t say too much since I still sincerely hope you will check out the series someday, but suffice to say there’s a scene towards the end where she makes a choice that shows how much she has personally grown, and come to understand what it really means to “love” someone wholeheartedly.

3) Gary Oak from PokémonThis is a bit of an odd one, but Gary is a character I related to a lot when I was an adolescent since, of the main series cast, he was the first and one of few to really change his “status quo” by quitting training and deciding to become a researcher instead. In my eyes it seemed like a shockingly conscious choice to “grow up” in a world where you can ostensibly remain a “child” forever, and I both admired and deplored him for it (especially at that tender transitory age I was going through at the time, where it feels like you’re being forced to “become an adult” whether you want to or not).

V - Which character do you relate to most?Already answered.W - A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.Romance in general is really not my thing, so I dislike when it’s the focus/the writers feel the need to pair every character. I’d rather leave things open-ended most of the time.X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.Family/friendship stories + tragic adopted children wanting to be heroesY - What are your secondhand fandoms (i.e., fandoms you aren’t in personally but are tangentially familiar with because your friends/people on your dash are in them)?X-Men, Kingdom Hearts, Dangan Ronpa, Fate/Stay Night, Various Magical Girl series, Various RPG Horror games

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go! (Prompts optional but encouraged.)I feel like I’ve rambled enough already phew. OTL Thanks for asking though. =P

#cryptoriawebb #starspeaks

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