#like all three colors looks good on it amber green and blue

[digitaldreamsss]

#dec vt220 #vt220 #digital equipment corporation #objectum #GAH THEY ARE SO PRETTY #I WANNA MAKE A GUSHING POST SO BAD BUT IM A BIT SHY ABT IT #BUT BASICALLY OH MY GOSH THE WAY IT HAS THREE DIFFERENT COLORS #like all three colors looks good on it amber green and blue #beautiful machine

[ryujnn]

⊳ akuma ﾟ｡ ⋆ i’ll count the stars tonight.

⊳ chapter summary ﾟ｡ ⋆ after gojo and the reader tell tales from the past, they begin to grow closer with one another — just not as close as the date for the reader’s fight.

⊳ chapter warnings ﾟ｡ ⋆ gojo’s domesticated. swearing. more sexual tension. intrusion. info about the readers clan. no major warnings yet.

⊳ note ﾟ｡ ⋆ omg the fight??? who’s gonna win??? omg???? rika returns???? why????? so many questions!!!!! i hope you all enjoy, send me your asks about how you feel about the chapter or any questions!

tag list. visual + character board. prev. next.

The night is hushed, full moon blooming over the jungle trees standing to its highest statue — the wind singing it’s favorite tunes once it approaches midnight. If phones weren’t available, the routine of the dark would be it’s very own clock.

The sounds of fresh leaves that have fallen from the saplings being crushed by bare feet was the only interrupter. With each step followed a larger one about thirty seconds later, yet the second pair of footsteps were slower and heavier.

“Stop running, Rika!”

A guards voice was scary on its own, but the heavy military grade weapon that he held like a flower increased the sweat that grew on the woman’s palms — the same woman who was running from him.

Rika, a woman with beautiful long hair that fell down her back — an amazing frame and a unique sense of cursed energy, had been running from the guards of the Shio clan; with her newborn baby in hand.

“Tell me about your clan.”

“A new generation starts after the fight between two siblings. The winner gets to knock up five different women, marry their pick of the bunch, and train those kids for their own fight.”

“Out of those five kids, the two strongest will compete and the other three will marry a woman and have one child. Their children don’t fight, the weaker siblings basically get a pass — they just have to have one child in case one of them were a bearer of five.”

Gojo’s eyes were on the ground as he soaked up this information about your clan. He could’ve learned this if Himari would’ve died any later, but he enjoys hearing it from you nonetheless. You guys don’t talk, especially not like this — deep and personal.

“How do you know what power they have?”

“Eye color. Heterochromia eyes are space, Blue for water, Brown for earth, Green is air, — Amber is for fire. Pitch black eyes are for bearers of five.”

“So—”

“Not yet, Mr,” You lean forward to set your glass down, keeping yourself warm by cuddling up with your cardigan. “It’s my turn to ask questions.”

Aware of his word, Gojo can only tell you so much. There’s things he cannot share, that he can’t explain or tell you until a certain time — and he refuses to lie to you, especially about some of the information you want to know.

So, he’s honest.

“I can’t morally tell you why I married you. I kept a promise. I can tell you later on, when the time is right,” Satoru’s keeping his eyes on you, waiting for an expression to change. It’s just so hard to read you. He can’t tell if he’s pissed you off or if you didn’t hear him at all. “Can’t tell you how I know Himari, either. I can answer anything else, I’ll be honest with you.”

Personally, you’re not sure if you wanted to know why he married you.. or even how he knows your mother. The information could be bad, could send you into a spiral, and having all of that before your fight probably isn’t the best idea.

So you nod. Just a meek nod, no smile, no frown, not even a twitch to your eyebrows. It’s a nod, and Gojo feels a little more to ease. You’re not arguing about? Something’s definitely changed.

“Where were you?”

Your husband takes a moment to look down at the fabric of his pants before speaking up.

“My best friend died,” He answers, keeping his attention on his sweats. “I had a lead about him, not a good one, just some information I was too afraid to look into before, but after he died I supposed it was time for me to follow it.”

Best friend? Gojo Satoru had a best friend? This is news to you. You assumed he was close to everyone, and you’ve heard him refer to people as his friend but never his best friend.

“Visited his family, made plans for his body — saw some of my old friends, too.” You’ve never seen Gojo so calm and reserved. He’s clearly trying to keep himself together, not show too much of how he’s feeling. You, in a way, understand it. “He was a horrible person, but I cared for him. Trusted him.”

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you make the decision to stand up from your seat and make way to your husband. You sat next to him, keeping a comfortable distance, and whispered…

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Five words he’s heard before, but in a split decision he decides he likes it better when you say it. He likes to hear those words with your soft voice, with your unimaginable presence.

“I don’t expect you to cry, or to tell me everything that’s going on in your life. I married a very busy man — but if anything, don’t keep that stuff bottled up,” You notice Gojo has yet to look at you, and you’re okay with that, because he’s hearing you and that’s all that truly matters. “I’m one to talk, but death is a scary thing. It’s hard to lose someone like that. So talk to me whenever you want, even if it’s in a letter or if you text it.”

Those last few words pulled a chuckle from Gojo. He leans back, finally looking over to you with his piercing eyes — lips turned into a small smile. “You want me to text you even if we live in the same house?”

“Didn’t stop you before.”

It’s tolerable, you two. Little jokes, little reinsurance and even the slightest bit of communication. It’s a long way from when you first were married, and even if progress is small — it’s worth it.

“Wanna ask me anything else?”

You shake your head, much to your husbands surprise. “I’ll wait for you to explain to me… when the time is right. Why you married me, how you know my mother. I’ll wait.”

“How about you? Anything else?”

“I’ll learn it,” Satoru huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d rather learn than to find everything out in one sitting. I don’t think my brain can handle it.”

You chuckle, shaking your head with a small smile on your face. “We’re not that bad.” Standing up from your spot, you start walking over to the kitchen.

And for the first time, Gojo feels his chest warm. The heat starts in the middle of his chest and grows out to his shoulders — heart beating softly yet he’s so warm. You laughed at him… let alone smiled? It was the prettiest thing he’s seen, the prettiest thing he’s heard.

Now all he wants to do is make you laugh and smile again, just to experience that feeling one more time.

Such a small moment ruined by the ringing of your phone. It’s sat on the table in front of Gojo, vibrating against the wood, and he’s who shares a look with you. He’s already scanned the contacts name — and when you speak of the devil, he shall appear.

“It’s your father.”

You wrinkled your forehead, furrowing your eyebrows. Your quizzed expression definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by your husband — who shares almost the same face — but you’re confused because your father never called you, personally.

This could possibly be the first time he has ever called you.

“Answer it.”

Satoru reaches forward and grabs your cellular device, sliding the button across the bottom screen before setting it on speaker. “Y/N’s phone.”

“Ah, Gojo! Nice to hear from you, son. Where’s Y/N?”

“She’s busy right now, can I take a message?”

“Busy…?” A crude laugh leaves his lips. “I thought your honeymoon was over!”

“I’ll leave it up to your imagine, Sousuke,” Gojo’s growing a bit irritated for some reason. Maybe it’s the fact he doesn’t like this man, the way he treated his own wife and daughter — or that he’s questioning the whereabouts of his wife when he hasn’t been concerned about anything in her life. “What’s going on?”

There’s silence for a second, even a bit of rustling. There’s a faint ‘c’mon dad’ in the background that catches Gojo’s attention. But nothing shocks him more than this.

“There’s a banquet tonight and Y/N needs to be there. The whole family is coming, extended and conjoined — she needs to be there tonight for… her clan.”

Gojo looks over to you, and the confused expression on your face switches into a coy smirk. You placed your hand over your mouth, stopping any laughter that threatened to bubble out. This is the first time your father has ever made you laugh.

Your husband is confused, but after a few extremely awkward seconds of silence wedge it’s way between you three, you send him a thumbs up and a quick nod.

“We’ll be there.”

There’s a breath that huffs on the other side of the phone, and Sousuke’s tone switches to a perkier one right after. “See you later, son.”

The call ends.

“Are you gonna tell me why we’re happy to see the man that almost killed you when you were born?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at Ichiji’s face once he heard Gojo’s words, replicating the :O perfectly.

“You’ll find out soon.”

And he will. Gojo enjoyed the thrill, the little secrecy between you both about this… but personally, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you — and that’s real reason he didn’t push for more information. Too busy staring at you. A beautiful spaghetti strapped gown, black, complimenting your skin and figure. You both decided on wearing black, considering this was short noticed — but you still managed to look stunning in his eyes.

Gorgeous, long hair curled and lying down your back, almost how it was for your wedding. Simple makeup, yet it sparkled — and Gojo loved when you did your makeup with sparkles. He loved your hair. He loved your frame, your attitude. He loved so much about you.

“I think we’re almost there, Gojo—”

“Satoru.” He corrects, catching your attention. Looking him right in the eyes, just how he liked it. “Call me Satoru from now on.”

As quick as you looked at him, you had to look away. Your face was burning, heat rushing from your cheeks to your ears. Knowing the type of man your husband is, you refrained from letting him see you blush for the reason you’d simply never hear the end of it.

“Whatever.” Is all you could bite back, and Gojo sat beside you with a smile, knowing the effect he had on you.

Either it was the stupid smirk he sports like an accessory, or it’s the fact his suit jacket is rested on his lap while his white, button up shirt has three buttons popped open, and his sleeves rolled up to show off the bracelet on one arm and the watch on the other. He knew his affect, he knew who he was.

He was Gojo motherfucking Satoru. Married and in love.

Assigned guards open the momentous, large doors to your family’s event room, revealing the football field sized area — with most, if not all, seats filled with people. Some you have never seen, some people you’ve been introduced to.

Your anxiety triples for some reason. The small huff that leaves your breath, wiping the sweat from your palms onto the material of your dress doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo… because he’s had his eyes on you since you left your shared home.

He wiggles his hand to yours, intertwining your fingers together. Stunned, you turn to send him a questioning look, one he reciprocates (in a mockingly way) and leans down to your height.

“Gotta keep up our facade, don’t we?”

He’s right — as much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. It leaves you no choice but to nod, plaster a smile that’s not so fake anymore, and wrap your arm around your husbands back.

“We sure do.”

You both share a smile and walk down the steps into the room, capturing the attention from everyone surrounding you. They stand and welcome you, clapping at your arrival. Part of you asks if it’s for you — or your entirely famous husband.

And for some reason, once you’ve scanned the room and noticed half the women twirling their hair, applying more lipgloss or even trying to stand in a sexy manner, all for the attention of your husband, it grapples you some energy.

Enough energy to smile back and place your free hand on his chest, rock of a diamond glistening on your finger from the bright lights that lit the room.

Once the attention died down, everyone returned to their seats, and you and Gojo made your way over to the bar. Though they weren’t serving alcoholic drinks, the seating looked nice to you both. But before you could even get over there, you were stopped by two men.

The two men in your life aside from your husband.

“Y/N!” Sousuke claps his hands, looking down at you with a small smile — obviously forced. He’s about Gojo’s height, maybe an inch or two shorter. That doesn’t stop his from pushing his chest out, trying to match his statue. “Son.”

“Sousuke.” Gojo responds.

“I’m glad you two could join us tonight,” Sousuke takes a sip of the whiskey brown drink out of his glass, hissing at the taint taste after. “Just gotta keep you muzzled, don’t we? Don’t need you ruining another family event.”

To anyone else, these words from a father would cut their daughter in half — completely breaking them. But you’re used to it, it doesn’t personally upset you anymore, and it goes into one ear and out the other.

“I’d watch my words, Sousuke,” Your voice is a bit lower, not wanting to catch any attention around you — keeping that pretty smile on your lips. “Wouldn’t want me to leave, would you? Right? You needed me here tonight to keep up your ‘perfect father’ persona.”

Then it finally clicks. Gojo understands why you found the situation funny — a father who hates his daughter yet needs to use her to seem like he’s the best father someone could ask for. It’s a fake. He’s a phony.

Satoru thinks it’s hilarious.

Now the other man decides to speak up, taking a bold step next to his father.

“He doesn’t need you.” Ryou adds.

You yawn, fanning your eyes from tearing up, bored expression reading your face. “A bitch and his boy, tale as old as time,” You squeeze Gojo’s hand, giving him a quick look before turning your attention back to your father. “We were headed to the bar. Do me a favor — don’t ever step in my way again. You’re both critically annoying.”

Now walking around your brother, who’s fighting back the urge to grab you by your hair and stab you in your jugular, you and your husband were finally able to reach the bar.

You both take seats next to one another, and he quickly takes this opportunity to look you in the face with a smile — a proud and genuine one.

“That was… strangely attractive.”

“You think so?”

He nods, almost hypnotized in your eyes. After a moment of just gazing at one another, you roll your eyes and lean forward to tap his leg.

“Maybe I’ll call you bitch boy from now on.”

Gojo hums, taking a sip of water from his champagne glass. He sets it down next to yours. “What do you wanna eat tonight?”

It sounded so domestic of him to ask, slightly causing your eyes to widen as the sudden question. “Uh,” You pick up your glass, swirling the tap water around. “I can cook something.”

“You’re not burning my rice cooker again.”

“Well, that’s mean.”

“Thank you all for attending tonight, it was an honor and a pleasure to see so many familiar faces,” Sousuke stands at the mic, hands rested to his side. He’s wrapped in a designer suit, one that he’ll throw away right after using it because ‘real men don’t rewear clothes’. “Now that our night has come to an end, I have a special announcement to tell you all about.”

“Mark your calendars, request time off, set a reminder, and grab your popcorn — watch the Shio Clan’s Generational fight next week, here in this very room.”

The crowd gasps, all clapping their hands together to the amazing news. You, on the other hand, watched with wide eyes, catching eye contact with the man who birthed you, smile at your reaction.

Why is he telling them before you?

And so soon? The fights usually doesn’t happen until the end of the year!

You can’t possibly do anything big in a week.

Seven full days? That’s your warning time?

You’re absolutely pissed.

He laughs into the mic, raising his hands up in surrender. “I won’t hold up your time! You all get home safe — and I’ll see you here next week!”

Everyone around you begins to stand from their position, gathering their belongings to hit the road. The Shio household is located in the backroads of bumb—fuck and it’ll take anyone twenty minutes minimum to find their way out of here.

You, on the other hand, stand from the stool you were sat in, turning to go give your father a piece of mind. Maybe even kill him in front of everyone he knows and spit on his dead body. All until a gentle yet firm grip catches onto your wrist, stopping you from going anywhere.

He spins you around, forcing you to look into his vibrant blue eyes, which strangely bubbled your anger down the slightest. Just a sprinkle.

Gojo drops your wrists and raise his palms to your face, cupping your jaw gently. “He’s not worth it. Keep this anger you have, use it next week.”

“Satoru—”

“Find somewhere and bottle it up. Close the bottle and store it away. Use it at the right time,” The more he looks at you, the more you look at him, it doesn’t feel like you’re pretending anymore. You couldn’t even tell if there were people around anymore, and you didn’t care. “We can do a lot in week. And after that when you kick bitch boy’s ass.”

You chuckle.

There was that pretty sight, pretty sound. The laugh that followed your heaven sent smile. He’s so giddy he got you to do it again, he’s even smiling along with you.

Silence. It seems to be the thing between you two. A comfortable silence. Like getting into bed when it’s raining; after a warm shower; the shiver you have when you’re about to sleep. Or like trying your favorite food again for the first time in forever, reminding you of the sweet memories you had before.

You melt. Melt into his hands as he cups your cheeks, and for the first time, you take a step forward to bury your face into his chest. He moves his hands to cup your head, burying his fingers in your head of hair.

“Thank you.” You whisper. Loud enough for him to hear it, big enough so he’d never forget it.

Satoru sets his chin on your head, throwing his arms around you. “Don’t mention it.”

“If I’m sleeping in your bed again, the air has to be on,” You’re sticking the key into you and Gojo’s home, unlocking all three locks before pushing the door open. “You’re so warm, I was sweating in that bed.”

“So take your clothes off this time.” He responds nonchalantly, brushing past you to shut the door and lock it back.

You roll your eyes. “Pervert— Oh my god!” You shout, jumping in your spot.

Gojo kicks the door shut, grabbing you by the material of your dress and pulling you behind him. His infinity is switched on and he’s scanning the home for the reason you screamed.

How did anyone even get in here?

Until his eyes fell on the woman seated on your couch. The playful demeanor he sported now drops, back into the man he was whenever he was dealing with cursed spirits. Back into Gojo Satoru — not your husband or the man that was falling in love with you.

“You know who I am?”

The woman nods to his answer, she looks as petrified as you are.

“So you know I can kill you before you can blink again, right?”

She holds her hands up in surrender, shaking her head at his threat. “Please don’t… I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Maybe you were stupid to believe her, but with a man like your husband threatening to take her life and the shakiness in her voice absolutely shattered your heart, you grabbed onto Gojo’s hand and walked forward the slightest, keeping close to him.

“Who are you?”

“I’m… Rika.”

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[paradoxcase]

Chapter 48 of Harrow the Ninth

Ahh, I've missed Gideon POV

At first I thought that the double douchebag comment was about Lyctorhood in general, but then I remembered that Gideon was totally 100% for getting eaten by Harrow. I guess Ianthe is just a double douchebag because Gideon considered both Ianthe and Naberius douchebags, so now they are a double douchebag

Oh Gideon, wanting to kick Crux down the stairs 100% makes you awesome

(Actually, reading it again, I'm not sure if she means "fantasizing about kicking Crux down the stairs doesn't reflect well on me because kicking people down the stairs is bad" or if she means "the fact that I never kicked Crux down the stairs doesn't reflect well on me because I never did it")

But don't worry, Harrow thinks you're great regardless

So like, to what exact degree have the second-person parts of this book actually been through Gideon's perceptions? Or are they Gideon's experience filtered through Harrow's perceptions? Like, if Harrow hallucinated something that was not there, would Gideon have seen and reported it? Earlier Gideon said that she couldn't actually see out of Harrow's eyes during that part, so maybe she was just getting second-hand information from what Harrow saw, or thought she saw, and reporting on it? If seeing Cytherea's body was a hallucination, it does make sense that Gideon wouldn't question it, since she's not used to questioning the things she sees. But, maybe Gideon was actually perceiving stuff herself, somehow, and everything that Harrow reported actually happened, including Cytherea's body under the bed, and Ianthe telling her that stuff didn't happen was just gaslighting? Now I'm not sure anymore

I love everything about this

Oh god, this isn't just a tumblr meme, it's actually a quote from the book

So Mercy ducked out to go kill Harrow, and just never came back, and Harrow left for obvious reasons, and then Augustine left for currently unknown reasons, and then Ianthe abandoned Gideon the First because she's just like that. I hope Gideon the First doesn't die because of this, I've sort of settled on him being maybe the only good Lyctor at this point

So he also came to whatever conclusion Mercy came to based on Gideon's eyes, in a lot less time, and it has something to do with John, and he's also had some thought about Mercy, so maybe he knew she was ducking out to go kill Harrow. Ok. I still don't know what the significance of this is. You know, it is kind of funny how much of this plot is hinging on people's eye colors, because I can't actually tell people's eye color in real life, like I feel at this point that Gideon's eyes must be like broadcasting the bat signal or something for everyone to be reacting to them this quickly. Like, I can see if eyes are light or dark, but are the light eyes blue, or grey, or green? I have zero idea. I don't think I could actually tell unless I went up to someone and stared at them from three inches away, or something. And while I was googling for pictures of what amber eyes actually look like in reality, I remembered that I don't even really know my own eye color, either. I was always told it was hazel, and that's what it says on my driver's license, but then when I joined the Sims 2 fandom like 15 years ago and downloaded some custom hazel eyes thinking I was going to go make some sims with my eye color, those eyes were a completely different color than my eyes, and I learned that by "hazel" people usually mean the kind of eyes that are like partially brown and partially green, whereas my eyes are definitely a single solid color all the way through and if I actually look at the wikipedia page on eye color, they do look most similar to the picture for the amber eyes. But then wikipedia also says this:

which is a pretty good description of my eye color, and I think also a good description of the picture on the wikipedia page for amber eyes. So I've got no idea, honestly. By the way, I can't find any other source online for this statement about hazel sometimes meaning hazelnut-colored, every site I can find seems to use the brown-mixed-with-green definition. The four sources in that image are not about language use with respect to eye color descriptions, or about eye color genetics, they're just miscellaneous eye studies in which eye color was a variable and all four of them divide all possible human eye colors into one of three categories: blue/grey, green/hazel, and brown. I can't read the full articles, but for all I know these references are just meant to mean "some scientists classify eye color this way for simplicity's sake". There's one person on the talk page of the wikipedia article claiming that the definition of hazel = hazelnut-colored is the main one and the brown + green definition is specious, but they seem to be contradicted by the entire internet. So what is hazel? What is amber? What are Gideon's eyes supposed to look like? What color are my eyes? I don't know. I don't know the answers to any of those questions

I am living for the Ianthe/Gideon banter

I appreciate Gideon for this more detailed description of the Cyrus and Valancy nude art that Harrow could not bring herself to give us

Did Gideon get "so many" letters from Harrow? The only ones I remember from Gideon the Ninth were the various snippy notes that Harrow left her after she went to go adventuring in the facility, and after the siphoning challenge, but I'm not sure that qualifies as "so many". Did Harrow write letters to Gideon before they came to Canaan House?

I have to wonder under what circumstances Harrow thought Ianthe might run into Gideon that she gave her this letter. Did she expect this exact thing to happen? I got the feeling at the beginning that she had some other ultimate plan in mind for Gideon besides her sharing Harrow's body. Also, didn't Harrow work very very hard to not achieve One Flesh One End with Gideon?

And of course, the sunglasses will hide Gideon's eyes, for when she goes to talk to John. I would have thought this was part of Harrow's plan, except I'm also like 100% sure that Harrow also has no more idea about what Gideon's eye color means than Ianthe does

No comment

Gideon just cannot resist the that's what she said joke even while clearly having some Big Feelings

I feel like Ianthe thinks she's in a completely different genre of book. She wants to be this clever, aristocratic lady in a fantasy of manners that's full of intrigue and backstabbing and then she falls in love with some dude (or some woman, maybe) and has to keep that from unraveling all of her plans, but instead she's in this gross body horror story where love isn't keeping a lock of someone's hair, it's giving yourself DIY brain surgery in order to prevent the destruction of their immortal soul after they died. I think she does know why Harrow did what she did, though, I think she said so herself in that one chapter we got that was from her POV. She's just trying to stir shit here. But more fool her, I'm pretty sure Gideon already thinks that Harrow removed her memories of her because she hated her, I don't think there's any way that Ianthe could hurt Gideon here that Gideon hasn't already done to herself

I feel like Harrow and Gideon came away with very different impressions of what exactly went down during the Pool Scene

I'm still not entirely sure how right Gideon is about this and how much of it really was just Ianthe trying to use Harrow. And I think it's hilarious that she immediately comes back to "she was a hypocrite for getting upset about the necrophilia"

Is there going to be any love confession in this story that is not completely fucked up?

This is obviously supposed to be some sort of joke, and it was mentioned repeatedly in that "what's the worst joke" poll, but I don't get it at all

#the locked tomb #harrow the ninth

[mycitynowdotjpeg]

Starfish and Normal Lamron 🥺🥺

Starfish - Time Heals All Wounds

The Red House On The Shore

The sea rushed to meet the shore like long-lost lovers, waves cresting over sand as gentle as tender fingers against a cheek. The sun shone over the beach lined with a handful of homes on stilted foundations, made to withstand flood and high waves. Most were painted blue and white, though they’d been customized and changed over the years as residents had come and gone. One, though, was painted a rich red, near the far end, nestled between sand dunes that held a graveyard. The house itself had been expanded more than once, extra rooms built onto the sides closer to the cemetery than to the other houses, and additional levels bringing its total height to three storeys. The doors and windows were hung with rich tapestries of red and black and green, gold thread shining in the sun. The porch held several planter boxes lush with vegetation, providing fresh ingredients for the kitchen inside the front window. The smell of baked goods hung close to the house, permeating the air with the delightful aromas of fruits and sweets, and the crisp scent of fresh bread. 

Inside, a tiefling with ruddy brown skin and a long, spaded tail worked a dough against the counter with his clawed hands, nails too thick and sharp to be quite natural. There were several odd things about him, even for one of clear Infernal heritage. 

The first was that he glowed. Not all over, but his heart was like a beacon in his chest, shining golden light through his flesh, rippled with the shadows of his bones. His horns were curled with an age his face did not match: looping in ridged spirals, they rose above his head like a crown, the tips nearly grown entirely around a pair of golden rings. His legs were not that of a goat, but canine in nature, tipped with dainty black paws. He was dressed in the casual fashion of Mauelle, a loose sheer wrap tied around his waist, covering a bright red bikini bottom. His upper half was wrapped in red cloth, a baby sling holding an infant strapped to his chest. 

“Prosto zakroy glaza, solntse saditsya…” The Infernal melody slipped from his lips as he rocked the baby against his chest with the motion of rolling out his dough, slow and steady. “S toboy vse budet v poryadke, teper' nikto ne smozhet prichinit' tebe vreda…” Laying the dough over a tin, he began to shape it to form a crust. “S nastupleniyem utra my s toboy budem tsely i nevredimy…” 

“Normal?” 

Norm looked up as a gruff voice came from the doorway. He had to stoop, to peer into the room, even the ten-foot ceilings too short for his broad horns and enormous stature. 

“Voyage,” Normal said, smiling at the sight of his fiery beau, his arms cradled around a toddler tiefling girl, her riotous copper curls spilling over her face. She was angelic, her round face and orange skin like her father’s, with Normal’s intense blue eyes. “Is Cherish ready for school?” His tone was teasing, knowing his daughter was still fast asleep, not even dressed. 

“I’m waking her gently,” Voyage said, looking down at the four-year-old with a sparkle in his eye. His voice was hoarse as he said, “It’s her first day. I…” 

“I don’t know if I’m ready either,” Norm said softly, straightening up from the counter to hold the baby strapped to his chest closer. At nearly one year old, he was big for a tiefling baby, a hint of Voyage’s heritage already showing through his son. He was tawny in color like Voyage, too, his skin a rich tan, hindquarters like a lion’s. 

“Daddy, are you cooking pie for breakfast?” Peeking around Voyage was a tiefling boy, almost eight years old. His hair was a rich brown, dressed in a blue tunic and white trousers, a brown knapsack over one shoulder with a scroll poking out of it. He had amber green eyes, looking nothing like any of his parents, but beloved as their eldest child, followed by his two sisters and youngest brother. 

“I..am making a pie, yes, Gift,” Normal said with a chuckle, walking around the island in the kitchen to cup the side of Gi’s face. “It’s not for breakfast. I just…” 

“He bakes when he’s nervous,” Voyage said, smiling small and fond as he gently jostled Cherish, who stretched in his arms, mumbling in baby-talk under her breath. “It’s Cher’s first day of school, remember?” 

Gift nodded, but then asked, “Why does that make Daddy nervous?” Voyage arched an eyebrow at Norm as he set Cherish on the ground, her hooves clicking on the tile floor. 

“You know Cherish is special,” Normal began haltingly, and Gift nodded again. 

“You Wished for her,” he said seriously. 

“Yes,” Normal said gently, running his hand through Gift’s hair. “It was a long journey to that Wish, Gift. I lost her once. To have a day like today…” Norm smiled, sighing as he blinked back tears. “It’s just special. I want it to go well.” Gift puffed up his chest, brown and black tabby tail bristling. 

“I’ll protect her,” he declared. “Cher will always be safe with us, Daddy.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Voyage said, amused and warm as Cherish yawned widely, leaning against his leg. 

“School?” she asked, and Norm nodded, leaving his baking to follow his family into the den, where a human man with messy brown hair and soft white clothing was helping a six-year-old half-tiefling girl tie up her dress, her horns broad and thin like Voyage’s, her dark hair and bright eyes a striking contrast. 

“Charity, Papa and I are going to walk you to the school today,” Voyage said, prompting Medwin and their daughter to look up. She tilted her head curiously, and glanced over to where Cherish was climbing the stairs, Normal walking behind her. 

They ascended to the second level, Norm bending to take Cherish’s hand in his as they passed through the short hallway hung with mementos and paintings, the end of the hall bearing a grand artistic rendering of a phoenix, crimson feathers splayed over the canvas. They turned right to enter Cherish’s room, Normal letting go of her fingers to walk to the wardrobe and pull out an outfit for his daughter for the day. The baby on his chest fussed, and he soothed Courage with a kiss to his downy blonde hair. 

“Daddy?” 

Normal turned to see Cherish standing behind him, her face pinched with fear. 

“What if…what if nobody likes me?” she whispered, and Normal’s face softened, and he crouched down to cup her face. 

“You’re going to make so many friends, Cher,” Normal said softly, ocean-sapphire eyes meeting her desert-sky-colored irises. “It would be a lie to say everyone will like you, but I promise, you’ll make friends, too. And you will always have your family.” Cherish looked relieved, and reached up to wrap her arms around Norm’s neck. He embraced her, careful not to smother Courage. When they broke apart, Normal helped her get dressed, a rose-pink colored dress edged in golden thread. They descended the stairs again to meet the others in the den, Gift and Charity standing by the door with Voyage and Medwin. Norm bent to kiss each of his children, making Gift squirm and Charity giggle. He cupped Cherish’s face in his hands as he bent to kiss her forehead, smiling at her as Medwin opened the door and Voyage took the girls’ hands to lead them out of the house. Normal walked out onto the porch to watch them go, the five of them walking along the beach to the gates, where Mauelle waited. 

Norm kept his eyes on a mess of coppery curls as they shrank with distance, a smile playing around his lips. Courage cooed against his chest, and Normal sighed, losing sight of Cherish and their family as they passed through the gates to the city at large. He looked down at his newest son, still smiling as he brushed his fingers over his cheek, and, intent on finishing his pie while waiting for his family to come back, turned to walk back into the red house on the shore. 

#my fic #normal lamron #DND #pop

[triforce-of-mischief]

Try and Fail

Febuwhump Day 4: Experiment [Alt prompt 4]

Whump count: injury, blood, concussion, broken bones, mention of dead monsters

Word count: 800

Summary: The Colors never merge while they're injured. They don't know what it will do to them... but they're about to find out.

AO3

Reblogs > Likes!

After a tough battle, the Colors always made sure to heal themselves before reforming Four. They didn’t know what would happen if four wounded bodies merged into one, but it would surely be bad.

Healing before merging had always been an option… until now.

Green looked over the battlefield, not liking what he saw. The monsters were all dead, and his exhausted brothers were scattered throughout the corpses.

Blue was scowling as clutched a clearly broken ankle. Red’s fire rod lay forgotten on the ground as he stared, gaze unfocused, at the horizon. He didn’t seem to be aware of the blood trickling down the back of his head. Vio was still and prone, surrounded by too much blood to just be the monsters’. Green was almost lucky in comparison, he thought as he wiped away blood from his broken nose.

Okay, focus and regroup. Maybe we can wait for the others to find us, or work together to carry whoever’s hurt most.

He went to Red first, who took a few seconds to realize that he was there. Green didn’t need a light to tell that Red’s pupils were uneven, one extremely dilated while the other was a pinprick drowning in amber. A concussion, and a really bad one.

“Red,” Green said slowly, patiently. “I need you to bring your fire rod to Blue. He needs it to splint his leg. Can you do that for me?”

“Mhm.” Red stood, wobbling a bit but steady enough to walk over to Blue.

With Red and Blue handled for now, Green hurried to check on Vio. The fourth Color was bleeding profusely from a gash in his side, and Green dove to apply pressure to the wound. “Vio, can you hear me?”

Vio gave him a tiny nod, but his eyes stayed closed.

“I need you to look at me, Vio. You have to stay awake.”

Tired amethyst met urgent emerald, and Green attempted an encouraging smile. “That’s good, Vio. Just don’t fall asleep.”

Hylia, that’s a lot of blood…

Green glanced over his shoulder and saw Blue and Red hobbling over, Blue guiding a dazed Red while Red supported Blue in turn.

“I don’t think we can wait for the others to come find us,” Blue said, leaning on his concussed crutch.

“No… we have to go to them,” Green said slowly. “And we can’t all make it like this. We’ll have to merge.”

Blue paled. “But we never merge when we’re hurt. What will that do to Four?”

“I don’t know, and I wish we never had to find out. But Vio is bleeding out, Red’s head is bashed, and you and I are busted up ourselves.” Green gingerly rubbed his bloody nose on his shoulder, not willing to take pressure off of Vio’s wound. “Draw your sword, and have Red draw his too. We should do this as fast as possible.”

Those who were able drew their copies of the Four Sword, and Blue placed Vio’s in the other’s limp hand. “Everybody ready?” Green asked.

Blue nodded, Red mumbled nonsense, and Vio groaned.

“Great. Here we go.”

Three swords lowered to Vio’s since he couldn’t move his arm, and a bright flash of magic merged the four into one.

The pain was instant and overwhelming, too much and everywhere. The body had a concussion, a shattered ankle, a broken nose, and a slash wound that was bleeding more than they could handle.

Green did a quick headcount of everyone in the headspace. Red had started to cry from the confusion and pain, and Blue was trying to calm him down through gritted teeth. Vio was… nowhere to be found.

“Ugh, ow… wait, what did you do?”

That was Vio’s voice, and it was coming from outside.

Green called back, making sure Vio could hear him. “Oh gods… Vio, are we…?”

“Y-yeah. When you forced the reform, you merged into my body instead of Four.”

“This is bad,” Blue muttered.

“I don’t know how we- you- are still conscious, but we need to move before you pass out,” Green said. “You gotta get up, and keep pressure on that wound.”

“Working on it,” Vio hissed, struggling to stand. All four Colors felt the pain that spiked through his ankle, and only their stubborn, collective will prevented him from blacking out as the concussion made itself known.

“Great job. First step forward, now,” Green said, and the three internal Colors urged their temporary host to keep walking.

They didn’t get very far before not even the others’ urgency could convince Vio to continue onward. They shouted in alarm when Vio fell to his knees, and begged him to keep moving. Vio mumbled an apology as his consciousness faded, and the other three faded with him. 

As they slipped into the abyss, Green almost thought he could hear somebody yelling their name.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #linked universe colors #lu colors #febuwhump 2023 #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday4 #tw injury #tw blood #tw broken bone #tw concussion #tw corpse #fable writes #thank you redd for letting me use your idea! however i cant follow instructions to save my life #therefore i kinda did my own thing oops

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 5: Amber

Rating: PG

Fandom: SWTOR

Time: In between KotET and Iokath

Pairing:  none

Word count: 1323

~~

“The inscription identifies the original owner and crafter of the piece.  The kyber crystal utilized here is a unique color choice.  The age of the hilt combined with the exceptional crystal leads me to one conclusion.  This is not a forgery.” Talos Drellik took an unsteady breath inward.  “Yes, I do believe that this is Tulak Hord’s lightsaber, pending its activation.”  

“Last known owner: Darth Marr,” Lana Beniko added sadly.   Then she brightened up, a little.  “It is good to see it again.  Like an old friend.”

Captain Eva Corolastor nodded, a smile forming, then tapering away.  The sequence of events made sense, all these years later.  There was some relief in knowing that it was safe, not lost at all.

The three of them had known and admired Darth Marr while he was alive; Talos wasn’t sure if the word was ‘admiration’ from Eva’s point of view, but she and Marr seemed to have an acute understanding of the other.

And then…

There was Arcann, who was helping to oversee the liquidation of the Eternal Empire’s ill-gotten gains. Of the four, Eva and Arcann had been in the room when Marr met his end…and they had been on very different sides at the time.

Now the former Eternal Emperor stood quietly, like a man in the dock, waiting to be judged yet again.

“Figured this is what happened to it,” Eva said quietly.  “He had to have both my blaster and Marr’s lightsaber on him, depending on who was ultimately going to make the killing hit.”

Talos saw Arcann’s throat bob, nervously.  She didn’t say his name.  

When Arcann said, “The construction of the artifact is superior.  I remember being fascinated by it,” he reached to pick up the lightsaber.

“Don’t even think about it.” Eva’s voice came coolly, the ice belying the anger Talos could already see simmering.  “You’re not worthy of it.”  

Arcann stopped his hand, immediately, and withdrew it.  He was more than adequately chastised and stung by her words.  However, he still had his tongue in his head, and he was wise enough to compliment the piece.  “Such wonderful objects are made to be used and passed on.  Do you know if Darth Marr had any heirs?”  

“Ramesses.”  Talos and Eva said in one voice.  Then, disparately, yet still together. “Have you heard—”  “Do you know –“  Then “What of Fria –?”  “Halfsand might, if she –”

Eva rapped on the table in frustration.  “So many dead.  So many missing.  So many in hiding.”

Arcann bowed his head. “That is my fault.”

“Yes, it is,” Eva confirmed, not looking at him.  Then she turned to Lana.  “Fire it up?”

Lana nodded, reaching for the saber.  With a careful grip, her fingers and palms trying to align with the grooves worn into the hilt over the decades, Lana activated the lightsaber.

The amber blade hummed to life, as brilliant as Talos remembered it.  In the sea of Sith red and purple, Jedi blue and green, Marr’s personal weapon stood out among them all.  Objectively, it was beautiful.  

Lana held the hilt carefully for half a minute before she deactivated the blade.  “It is uncomfortable to wield, in more ways than one,” she said to Eva.  Then to Talos:  “Is the museum on Dromund Kaas able to hold this?  And keep it, mind you?  Many would give a great deal to have this trophy.”

Talos sighed longingly at the lightsaber.  “As much as it does belong in a museum, no, I think we’d be tempting fate if we were to take it there, at this time.  Too much clamoring to be at the top of Sith society, too many aspirations to be on the Dark Council.”  

Lana laid the lightsaber back in its case and closed it, then handed it off to Eva.  It would remain on Odessen, the silent consensus.

“Thanks, Talos.  Catch you at Dr. O’s at 1600?” Eva tossed the invitation over her shoulder as she headed toward the vaults of Odessen to store the lightsaber of two powerful men.  

“Yes, I’ll be along.” And with his words, Eva and Lana walked out of the room together.  As they moved down the hall, Talos saw the two women bow they heads in toward each other to speak.

Talos gathered his datapads and his holocam.  He had documented the hilt and its disposition thoroughly.  

Then a voice.  “I would like to make this right.  Can you help me find him?  The one they call Ramesses?”

Talos startled slightly to find Arcann still there.

…he had a tendency to do that.  Despite the stark white garments and the large, imposing frame, Arcann had the knack of being able to disappear into the walls of Odessen… probably because many wished he simply was not there.  

“You do know people would hide him, just because you are the seeker.”

Arcann nodded, frowning deeply.  “Yes. And I know you have no reason to help me.  But… I see more clearly than I did when Darkness consumed me.”  He looked down at his hands.

Everything Kallig had been to Talos ran through his mind, like a holofilm on fast-forward.  “…do you have any friends here on Odessen? Those that might be able to help us?”

Arcann nodded.  “Koth plays multi-dimensional chess with me.”

Oh, what a simple definition of friendship.  

~~

Some months later, the storage container was retrieved from the vaults by Lana Beniko.  She brought it, as ordered, to the war room on Odessen.

Standing seven feet tall, his skin a brilliant red, and shockingly soft-spoken, Lord Ramesses of Bergeren bowed deep and low as she entered the room.  That visibly threw Beniko slightly, even as she deposited the box on the table.

Talos had told him that’s how ‘the boy’ had been on Yavin 4.

It was Ramesses, Marr’s last apprentice, who opened the case.  He gazed upon the large, heavy hilt as Talos gave him a historical briefing on the item. Ramesses nodded along; from what Talos had said, he had been the object’s caretaker on Marr’s behalf when he wasn’t using it in combat.  

Then the moment of truth came.  Ramesses picked up the large hilt with far more ease than Beniko had, and he ignited the blade.

The amber of the blade matched the amber of his eyes.  The hilt seemed to fit easily in his hand.

Yes, Arcann decided, this was the rightful owner. Another thing put to right, something else yanked out of the Darkness he had brought to the galaxy.  

This… reunion… felt more true to his nature than what he had done before.

Once the lightsaber was deactivated and holstered by Ramesses, the Sith had turned to the Captain for her approval. (Arcann knew what that was like.)  She affirmed the obvious: it was his, and welcome to the Alliance – a firm hearty handshake ensued, then an invitation to the next pazaak night the cantina had.

As everyone started to file out, Arcann caught Eva’s eyes for a second, the kindness she’d extended to Ramesses still there.  “Good work.”

He heard the words, and for a split second, he had all the warmth in the universe.

Even after she had gone, with Agent Shan and his hand at the small of her back, Arcann lingered in the happy feeling.  Not just her approval, but the sensation of righting wrongs, untying all the ugly knots he’d made in the ties of the galaxy, and defying fate and destiny.  

During their war, Eva had spoken out against any fate that was shoved upon her.  Arcann agreed with her, but for wholly wrong reasons.

She was still right. He still agreed with her, but not out of pride or ego.  Arcann despised the concept of destiny, because by his birth, raising, and actions until he was 25, his destiny had always been Darkness.  

And now it wasn’t.  

He could do so much more in the galaxy than that.

~~

@fluffyfebruary

~~

@ermingarden @starlightcleric @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @bluephoenix1347 @ayresis

~~

Arcann peoples who kindly responded to my page about their boy:  @sheyshen @haledamage​ @queen-scribbles​ @valleyofthemachinegods​ @swtorramblings​ @sarpndo​  -- thank you!! 

#swtor #fluffy february #swtor fan fiction #arcann #talos drellik #lana beniko #darth marr #sith warrior oc #oc: eva corolastor

[fan-clan-fun]

Due to the length of the submission, I'm posting it as is. It looks like a lot of work was put into this though, so good job!

SkyClan

The Generous and Excitable

Leader: Applestar — white she-cat with pale yellow eyes  

Deputy: Dawnpelt — long-haired light cream tabby tom  

Medicine Cat(s):

Larkleap — long-haired golden tabby tom 

Bluebellfur — calico she-cat with a fluffy tail 

Ambassador: Songclaw — dark-colored she-cat  

Warriors:

Stormfoot — long-haired light brown tabby tom 

Bloomfur — long-haired golden brown tabby tom 

Brookflower — long-legged pale tortoiseshell-and-white tom 

Weedsong — three-legged smoky black tom with darker splotches 

Curlycloud — very small flame-colored she-cat 

Lionstripe — deaf smoky she-cat with hazel eyes 

Sunpelt — long-haired flame-colored she-cat 

Paleclaw — battle-scarred black she-cat with amber eyes 

Storkflight — dark brown tabby tom with dark blue eyes 

Blackbelly — white tom with blue eyes 

Sleekwing — big dusky brown tom  

‎Lightningwillow — snowy white jack.

Apprentices:

Harepaw — long-haired golden tabby she-cat 

Stumpypaw — long-haired charcoal tabby she-cat  

Queens:

Leafwing — swift calico she-cat with a twisted left hindpaw and orange eyes (permanent queen) 

Thistlefoot — pale tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat (mother to Shrewkit, a red tom with a sliced ear; Crowkit, a light gray tabby she-kit; Brightkit, a long-legged smoky black she-kit; and Owlkit, a silver she-kit, all 8 moons old (apprenticeship delayed due to injury)) 

Liontail — long-haired red she-cat (permanent queen)  

Elders:

Mudstone — calico tom 

Graywish — mottled golden tabby she-cat  

Territory:

SkyClan's hunting grounds are a large mountain range covered in a dense forest. Its main trees are redwoods and firs . It is a tough and dangerous place for loners and any other cats who don't know how to survive there.

Camp:

In the treetops of a large cottonwood. The dens are in old owl's nests or woven from thin branches and padded with moss for insulation. The main gathering point is in the clearing below, which is accessible via a thick vine. There is a stream running through the main clearing, which contains plentiful fish.

Landmarks:

Treecutplace - A place where Twolegs grow spruce trees and cut them down. The place is not too dangerous, so sometimes cats go there to hunt.

Twoleg Dock - A twoleg dock off the shore of a small lake, which is usually used by them for anchoring their water monsters.

Dog Den - A sandy cave in a boulder, where a Dog has made its den. Because of this, the cave is always avoided by patrols.

Water Monster - An abandoned twoleg water monster (boat) anchored on the shore of a small river.

Traditions:

Leaders can retire, giving away all of their remaining lives except one

The clan is led by a council of the leader, medicine cat(s), ambassador and deputy

The clan is entirely made up of kittypets and loners

Beliefs:

Religion: they listen to what StarClan has to say, but ultimately make their own decisions

ANGELICACLAN

The Idiotic and Capable

LEADER

 YELLOWSTAR—a cream classic "pseudo-tabby" tom, with long fur, and green eyes.

DEPUTY

 MURKHEART—a blue she-cat, with short fur, and copper eyes.

MEDICINE CAT:

 BUZZARDSTONE—a short haired, chocolate she-cat, with amber eyes.

AMBASSADOR:

 SCOUTWISH — icy white senior tom with a heavily scarred face.

WARRIORS

CORMORANTWHISKER—a black she-cat, with short fur, and green eyes.

CROWHEART—a black she-cat, with short fur, and gold eyes.

TANSYTHROAT—a red spotted "pseudo-tabby" she-cat, with short fur, and copper eyes.

SPIDERCLAW—a black she-cat, with short fur, and copper eyes.

ROOKLEG—a short haired, black spotted tabby tom, with gold eyes.

POPPYWHISKER—a short haired, chocolate and red, mackerel calico-tabby she-cat, with green eyes.

‎Dove— spiky-furred, chocolate tortie point senior molly with a heavily scarred face and body and a seemingly permanent frown.

APPRENTICES

BEEPAW—a red mackerel "pseudo-tabby" she-cat, with short fur, and copper eyes.

SLUGPAW—a short haired, black tom, with hazel eyes.

GORSEPAW—a short haired, red mackerel tabby tom, with amber eyes.

LIMPETPAW—a chocolate and red, spotted tortoiseshell she-cat, with short fur, and copper eyes.

QUEENS

EGRETEAR—a short haired, white she-cat, with amber eyes.

COOTBLAZE—a black and red, mackerel calico she-cat, with short fur, and amber eyes.

CUCKOOSTORM—a blue she-cat, with long fur, and amber eyes.

ELDERS

FOXSTRIPE—a red mackerel "pseudo-tabby" tom, with long fur, and gold eyes.

‎‎Shatterblossom — silver classic tabby tom with a heavily scarred face, missing claws and thick fur like a lion's mane, partially deaf.

Territory:

AngelicaClan's hunting grounds are mostly made up of thick forested hills. Its main trees are sycamores and alders. The ground is covered in fallen leaves. a river runs through the center of the territory. There are mountains to the north.

Camp:

Sheltered beneath the canopy of several ancient aspen trees, providing the AngelicaClan cats with dens beneath the roots and in some low-down owl's nests. The camp is surrounded by dense undergrowth. The entrance is a fallen tree that forms a bridge over the wall.

Landmarks:

Dark Woods - A patch of dense woodland, where many strange plants grow. Prey likes to hide here, but so do bears..

Water Monster - A twoleg water monster (boat) anchored on the shore of a small river.

Heron's Barn - A small twoleg barn that is home to an aggressive loner named Heron, who often attacks clan cats.

The Salmon Stream - A wide brook which usually contains all sorts of fish, mostly Salmon, in all seasons.

The Mole Tree - An ancient cottonwood tree where many Moles live, but also a dog.

Traditions:

The clan is led by a council of the leader, medicine cat(s), and deputy

AngelicaClan has a specialized rank the Ambassador since AngelicaClan accepts any loners or kittypets who wants join they have someone help the loners and kittypets get use to the territory the Ambassador, who must be a former kittypet/loner themselves. AngelicaClan shares this rank with Skyclan   

Beliefs:

Religion: they listen to what StarClan has to say, but ultimately make their own decisions

CIDERCLAN

The Delightful and Well-developed

LEADER

‎ ‎ ‎Dandelionstar — black tabby senior jack with a dull pelt and strawberries tucked into their chest fur.

DEPUTY

‎ ‎ ‎Magnoliagrowl — gray-and-white jack with an oddly-shaped paw.

HEALERS

‎ ‎ ‎Rosefeather — young, black-and-white broken mackerel tabby jack.

‎ ‎ ‎Acorngale — freckled chocolate torbie-and-white jack.

WARRIORS

‎ ‎ ‎Splashwillow — bark brown tabby senior tom with a heavily scarred face and body.

‎ ‎ ‎Gravelprance — thin, silver mackerel tabby tom.

‎ ‎ ‎Falconbounce — mackerel tabby tom.

‎ ‎ ‎Cometfeet — pleasant, chestnut molly.

‎ ‎ ‎Flickeringstrike — lilac-ginger calico tom, virtually deaf

 ‎Pumpkinpoppy — densely-furred, silver tabby senior jack.

‎ ‎ ‎Mistletoemouse — bony, caramel-and-white jack with darker-colored ears

‎ ‎ ‎Brook — wiry-furred, cinnamon-and-white senior tom with a heavily scarred face, a long scar across his side and large ears.

 ‎‎Flamingmelody — calico jack.

APPRENTICES

‎ ‎ ‎Sailpaw — coltish, brindled silver molly.

‎ ‎ ‎Azaleapaw — copper-and-white tabby jack.

‎ ‎ ‎Dustpaw — newly-apprenticed, beige tabby tom.

NURSERY

‎ ‎ ‎Thistlefrost — honey-colored tabby molly.

‎ ‎ ‎currently caring for:

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Dancekit — lilac-and-white molly.

ELDERS

‎ ‎ ‎Heatherwish — freckled chocolate caliby jack, partially deaf.

‎ ‎ ‎Hazelflower — stout, caramel tom with a dull pelt, orange ears and faint tabby markings.

  Rainacorn — elderly, mottled caramel tom with a seemingly permanent frown, a long scar across his back and paralyzed hind legs.

Territory:

CinderClan's hunting grounds are in an abandoned twolegplace. It is very overgrown, and all of the wooden doors have rotted away. It is now mostly flooded. CinderClan is unbothered by twolegs.

Camp:

In a twoleg watch tower. The main rooms are used as dens, with the leader's den closest to the entrance. A large hole in the attic wall serves as a lookout point.

Landmarks:

The Hickory Bridge - A fallen Hickory tree that forms a bridge across a small ravine. 

Tall Willows - A large grove of very tall Willow trees that was planted by twolegs. It is home to many lapwings, but also some snakes.

Water Monster - An abandoned twoleg water monster (boat) anchored on the shore of The Carp Stream.

The Carp Stream - A brook which usually contains all sorts of fish, mostly Carp, in all seasons.

Cave - A large cavern on the side of a hill.

Traditions:

Kits are usually named after a recently deceased cat

Warriors and queens vote on important clan choices

All kits are named by the leader

Beliefs:

Religion: they have their own ancestors that they follow, called ClawClan

BARNCLAN

The Hardworking and Reliable 

LEADER

‎ ‎ ‎Voltstar — silver senior molly.

‎DEPUTY

‎ ‎ ‎Ripplegrip — agile, honey-colored speckled tabby molly.

HEALER

‎ ‎ ‎Duckspeckles — red tabby molly.

WARRIORS

‎ ‎ ‎Greenwave — freckled chestnut-and-white tom with a white leg.

‎ ‎ ‎Gladewave — tortoiseshell senior tom.

‎ ‎ ‎Mumblingwater — dappled snowy white tom.

‎ ‎ ‎Birchfluff — solid ashy gray molly.

‎ ‎ ‎Lilycinders — mottled lilly white tom.

‎ ‎ ‎Chivefish — brindled smoky black senior molly with rose petals tucked into her tail fur.

‎ ‎ ‎Flinteyes — black-and-white senior jack with a sagging pelt, a cream-colored tail tip and a cream-colored paw.

‎ ‎ ‎Slitheradder — smoky black molly with light amber eyes.

‎ ‎ ‎Stagfall — dappled beige tom with a cream-colored chest.

‎ ‎ ‎Tarbeard — lavender tabby senior molly with a dull pelt.

‎ ‎ ‎Squirrelprod — freckled caramel tom.

APPRENTICES

‎ ‎ ‎Shedpaw — coltish, mottled honey-colored-and-white molly with tiny emerald eyes, cream-colored paws and black socks.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Warrior Name : Shedfern.

‎ ‎ ‎Rainpaw — solid blue-gray tom with one crooked tooth.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Warrior Name : Rainhackle.

NURSERY

‎ ‎ ‎Boltcloud — cute, black-cream tortie point senior jack.

‎ ‎ ‎Cardinaldapples — copper senior jack.

‎ ‎ ‎currently nursing:

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Windkit — russet molly with a wide gremlin-like face.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Warrior Name : Windmist

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Briarkit — mottled russet molly with light yellow eyes, very dark tabby markings and a cream-colored chest and underbelly.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Warrior Name : Briartooth

ELDERS

‎ ‎ ‎Hatchfern — elderly, honey-colored tom, completely blind.

‎ ‎ ‎Woodsong — reddish-orange jack with a seemingly permanent frown, a triangular face and large ears.

‎ ‎ ‎Bubblingash — chocolate-and-white tom with icy blue eyes and a mostly silver face, completely deaf.

Territory:

BarnClan's hunting grounds are in a series of barns and farm land with a twoleg railroad to the north.

Camp: in a large twoleg barn, the stables are used as dens with the leader's den closest to the entrance. A large window in the attic serves as a lookout point.

Landmarks:

Sleeping Monster - A sleeping monster that hasn’t moved for as long as any cat can remember.

Carrionplace - A place where Twolegs throw garbage and scraps. There are many rats there, so it is a popular hunting place for BarnClan cats.

Twoleg Railroad - A wide twoleg railway. However, it is abandoned and twoleg monsters hardly ever drive across it.

Island Rocks - A warm pile of stones near the shore of a small river. A very good hunting spot because many sparrows live there in burrows.

Tumble's Barn - A twoleg barn that is home to a friendly loner named Tumble, who often helps clan cats.

Pine's Barn - A large twoleg barn that is home to a lazy kittypet named Pine.

Traditions:

Kits are sometimes stolen from other clans and raised without knowing the truth

Warriors get to pick their own names

Beliefs:

Religion: all BarnClan cats are reincarnated when they die, so they see StarClan as impartial judges of what kind of life a cat should be reborn into, rather than ancestors

#warrior cats #non-canon clans #clan culture #warriors OC #warriorsworldbuilding #submission

[ureternalmajesty]

House of Asmodeus

Nameless ghouls and ghoulettes x ocs (Aether included)

The summoned info

Name: Amber

Nicknames: Amb/s, Ammie, Berry

Age: 2029(28)yo,

Height: 5'10

Weight: 145lbs

Hair: Long black with white and grey streaks

Eyes: one Hazel eye - one amber eye

Disc: Splattered grey and light grey skin ghoul colored skin, She wears Kandi from other Ghoulettes, she wears 3 silver rings, she is the Clergy Florist, when she's at the ministry and rituals she wears the ghoul uniform, but when outside of those, she wears flowy earth toned fabrics.

Pronouns: She/Her

Instruments: Bass, Piano, Vocals, Tambourine

Ghoul Type: Multi Ghoul (Aether, Aura, Fortune) -----> Mate: Swiss, Aurora

Name: Asmodeus

Nickname: Asmo, Deus, Ozzie, Momo

Age:1,829 (23)yo

Height: Ghoul form 5'11, Glamoured: 4'11

Weight: 115lbs,

Hair: short curly mohawk

Ethnicity: African American / Caribbean

Eyes: has green eyes that creep people out but when glamoured they are dookie brown

Description: ghoul skin is darkish gray with lighter gray splatters, has a septum, womb tatt, wears a gold bracelet on the left wrist, wears the ghoul uniform but when not in uniform stays true to their nature (a whore), Ram-like horns that are decorated with gold chains, gold ankle cuff from mountain, gold arm cuffs from phantom, spaded tail with a red heart on the spade (Glamoured: Brown skin that has patches of lighter skin sometimes chooses to leave eyes green.) When scared or anxious they poof into a bat(has to do with being part quintessence), has ADHD, has phonic tics (echolalia), frog blinks, has an attention span the size of a pea unless it's mountain or phantom talking. Has sensitive hearing and doesn't like touching food often eats with gloves or is fed by Mountain. When not a total whore you can find Ozzie being a big baby whether it be with Phantom or Mountain. Got in a fight with another ghoul that's the reason there is a scar across their nose. When not on the road with the band Ozzie plays music at a lounge inside the ministry that he opened (lots of stuff happens there that shall not be mentioned), When summoned they stayed glued to Eros not talking and constantly covering their ears until they got used to being on the topside. Eros and Rain introduced Ozzie to Mountain hoping that being around an Earth Ghoul would help getting used to things. He is scared of a blender.

Ghoul Type: Multi Ghoul (Earth Ghoul & Lust)

Instruments: Trumpet, piano, bass, drums, and cello ( is secretly good at singing but has a somewhat a low ass voice)

Eros (Ghoulie): 

Age: 892(20)yo

Height : Ghoul: 5’4 Glamoured: 5’0

Weight 175 lbs

Ethnicity: Native American (Navajo tribe)

Hair: Short dark brown wavy, swept to either side (kinda like Cosmos but shorter) dyed streaks (color varies) Eyes: Unglamoured: fluctuates range from dark red, purple, pink, and white or will be a mix like a rainbow of those colors. Glamoured: Dark brown, looks black

Ghoul Type: Multi Ghoul (Fire, Quintessential, Lust, Air) → Mate: Rain

Pronouns: He/Him

Gender: Trans Male (FTM) but fluctuates from feminine clothing appearance to masculine

Instruments: Guitar, Vocals (Tenor to high soprano range), Keyboards

Description: Ghoul skin is Darker gray with black ombre effect on ends of fingers/hands, ears (medium pointed), and tail, Glamoured: skin is dark tan. Horns are medium size, black, curl in spiral like a ram’s horns with a silver ring that has small blue diamond (from Rain awe) on left side but will occasionally wear it on his left ring finger in his glamoured form and sometimes in his unglamoured form, tail is long and thin, spade is a heart shape with three small silver hoop piercings on one side all in a row, has womb tatt, Piercings: snake bites, nostrils, septum, eyebrow (right side), ears, three column on one side of spade tip, wears as much kandi as he can (gifts from rituals), black hoop earrings with a pentacle and inverted cross, nostril piercings are connected with silver chain that goes over top of nose, septum is just simple silver hoop as well as snake bites and eyebrow, nails are short black, two middle fingers have capricorn and pisces constellation on black color, scar on lower outside of right eye from his previous abusive mate he killed, wears ghoul uniform without cape, prefers to wear prequelle ghoul mask outside of rituals cuz it makes him feel more masculine but will wear impera mask if he has to, outside of rituals he dresses like a whore on fem days, really short mini skirts, thigh highs, garter belts, chains, all that type of stuff, masc days, baggy cargo pants, chains, baggy band tees, arm warmers, doc martins or converse same goes for fem days, wears eyeliner no matter what every day, autistic, anxiety, depression, cptsd, ADHD, echolalia (also comes from the autism), sensitive hearing, hates certain textures,hase a specific way he has to do things and a specific routine that he has to follow oe else he will freak out (autistic as hell),will go non verbal when overstimulated or will full on start crying if it’s bad enough, Rain usually knows what to do and will help him calm down in like 5 minutes (really helpful if the meltdown is less than 10 min before the ritual starts), he also age regresses, hella kinky its criminal, concerning attachment issues to the PapaIV plushia literally carries him around and takes care of him like his own child, Rain is a little uneasy around the plushia cuz its so ugly but he loves Eros so he doesn’t mind it and helps “take care” of him when Eros leaves him with Rain, was terribly frightened and did not speak at all when he was summoned (kind of a problem since he does backing vocals), hard time adjusting to new places and new routines but Rain helped him get more comfortable and brought him out of his shell, he would hide from the other ghouls and Copia in his room under the bed and would rarely come out for activities and meal times when first summoned, acts like a brat and a whore now that he's used to the others

#ureternalmajesty #nameless ghouls #namelessghoulettes #ghouls #ghoulettes #the band ghost #ghost bc #crackic #me and the besties writing #ghostbc #papa emeritus iv #evil seestor

[1016anon]

Title: Random Vampire AU Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kathani Sharma Summary: Vauxhall

A/N -- A reminder that Anthony is not human, is thousands of years old, and drinks human blood. Morals are for mortals.

-6-

Of all the balls hosted by various members of the ton, Anthony liked Vauxhall best. It reminded him somewhat of the carnivals in Italy, particularly Venice, for the simple fact they had to be ferried to the site and the celebrations, held outdoors, seemed to loosen some of the aristocracy's stuffiness. Truly, the inflexible societal structure of the English was astounding in its rigidity (rather like the Venetians had been a few centuries ago, come to think of it).

Best of all, the grounds were surrounded by extensive gardens.

Anthony would have liked take the same boat as Simon and Daphne, but Daphne pointed out that it would make an unnecessarily grand entrance, drawing the eyes of the ton and therefore guaranteeing them prize of place in the next issue of Whistledown. While it was generally known that the Viscount Bridgerton was good friends with the Duke of Hastings, the Duke and Duchess were rather reclusive and attended balls only sporadically.

They were there to support Miss Edwina, not recreate the infamous scene in Don Giovanni of three masked strangers suddenly appearing at the ball. Thus, it was best for Anthony to arrive with someone from Bridgerton House; undoubtedly Colin and Violet would want to attend, perhaps Benedict might want to partake in the revelries.

It was a beautiful night-- perfect for the occasion. The heat of the day receded, leaving behind sun-warmed earth and cool air with an occasional breeze. The sun had already set when the rower pushed off; Colin was safely ensconced under a ridiculous red canopy complete with gold tassels in case the sun decided to reverse course and rise again.

But the sky was a beautiful pink which turned lavender, then mauve, and finally a deep purple. It reminded him of one of his favorite dresses that his wife used to wear. He might not have been able to go out into the sun, but he could see her perfectly well when he sat in the dark corner of his study and she stood in front of the window, bathed in deep summer's morning light. Anthony loved her in any color, but he hoped she wore something which would glow in the amber torchlight.

By design, Simon and Daphne had arrived first, then quickly sought out Lady Danbury. Introductions were made, pleasantries exchanged, and Edwina was immediately taken under Daphne's wing. Simon offered his arm to Lady Mary, leaving Kate with Lady Danbury (also by design).

It was not long before Lady Danbury saw him approach. She cleared her throat and gave Kate an eyebrow, causing her to turn around right as Anthony stopped, a little too close.

"Lady Danbury," he tilted his head.

"Lord Bridgerton," she smirked. "You are being most attentive towards Miss Sharma."

"Lord Bridgerton," Kathani curtsied, gaze lingering on his open collar.

This was precisely the reason why he chose to forego a cravat-- or rather, tie it a bit loosely. When he had demanded Owen, his valet, to dress him in something with a bit more color, the man had stared at Anthony as though he'd eaten a bluebird and was surrounded by feathers. As it happened, Anthony only had waistcoats which were either shades of ivory, ivory with light gold accents (good god), or dark blues and greens. Similarly, his evening jackets were midnight blue, navy blue, blue, or black.

Immensely irritated by this discovery and still more annoyed that there was no time to have another tailored, Anthony decided he would wear his darkest blues. Going to Vauxhall entirely in black would make him look like a member of the clergy and Anthony was vain enough to draw a line, no matter how traditional (i.e. practical) it might be for vampires to skulk around in all black ensembles.

He ordered Owen to have new waistcoats and evening jackets made in more fashionable cuts and brighter colors; his valet knew his preferences. When asked what colors he would like, Anthony thought back to his wife's elaborate gowns at court: things that complement purple, and dark pink tulips. He remembered her in spring, standing in one of the court gardens amidst those very tulips. They hadn't been introduced yet, though he already knew her to be his flame.

She had been smiling up at the clear sky whilst one of her many suitors trailed behind her. Anthony, who had always been a bit of a perfectionist and more than a little competitive, wanted their first meeting to not only be memorable, but sweet and happy. Something she would cherish. It was no effort for him to be charming and amorous; his centuries of fucking men and women of every race, creed, and color meant he wore seduction as his second skin.

That wasn't what he wanted with her. There were plenty of people in court exactly like him; they played their bedroom games and swapped partners, pleasure flowing generously from one lover to another. Perhaps it was more honest to say: he wanted his memories of their first meeting to be sweet and happy.

Anthony had far too many introductions charged with lust and the rawness of desire; most largely hit the same keynotes of similar melodies. That was not to say the song and dance preceding the affair was meaningless-- far from it. Just because one must eat every day did not mean every meal was rendered stale.

But Kathani was different.

He had no blood running through his veins and his heart did not hold its own rhythm. Anthony had entirely forgotten what it was like, to have his own blood-- the richness of red made from his own marrow-- filling every corner and crevice and capillary of his body.

With her, he remembered.

It was terrifying. And he wanted, more than anything, to do this right.

Of course, habits of a century are not erased even with the most careful plans and it all went to hell. His reputation preceded him; his habit of disappearing at odd intervals was well known. The court liked to speculate he was some sort of spy; it was a rumor he encouraged. And sometimes he did engage in espionage, to break up the monotony of existence.

He was known to be a generous lover, which was good; also a bit capricious, which was bad. Certainly intelligent and a bit mysterious; most definitely patronizing and secretive. Easily amused, easily annoyed, easily angered, easily assuaged. As a vampire, Anthony had already done all his serious living a few centuries ago; he was now at that stage in life (such as it was) where he was content to flit about and float on the surface. Everyone who knew his face would be dead before they reached fifty years of age (earlier, if a plague swept through) and there were no real consequences to any of his actions.

It was not true that vampires would turn to dust if impaled on a pointy stick. Certainly they would die-- but so did humans. Having an object driven through one's heart, living or undead, generally had that effect on creatures.

When Kathani came into his life, Anthony felt like a moon moth drawn to the opaline pearls pinned in her hair.

Perhaps... it was good that Kathani did not have her memories. At the time, it had felt like disaster after disaster of heartbreak and misunderstanding. Looking back, it looked a lot more like a comedy of errors.

Tonight, at Vauxhall, she was wearing a gown the shade of late summer plums, the ones freshly picked that were just a little too ripe; when she bit into them, the juice spilled over her lips and he'd kissed her as though he could taste sunlight on her tongue.

Whatever expression was on his face, it was enough to make Kathani blush-- visible even in the low light-- and Lady Danbury make a very loud noise of disapproval. Anthony attempted to rearrange his features to something more befitting a Viscount, instead of playing the part of a moth circling the moon; it took far more effort than was usual. Every time he caught her eye, his lips tilted up in a small smile. Anthony managed to make the right noises and say the right words out of pure habit-- those idiotic Parliamentary sessions were good for something after all.

He hadn't noticed that he'd slipped into French, and that Kate had replied in kind. It was only when Lady Danbury whacked his shins that he reverted back to English. The way the people around him were sneaking disapproving glances, one would think he was Napoleon's greatest general come to invade the ton.

They had missed the first few dances, one of which looked rather... lively, from the sounds of all the jumping to and fro. Kathani seemed content to take a turn along the colonnade then along the party's grounds, occasionally making a comment on some poor girl's pestering mama, some poor man being pestered, or some boor pestering a girl. She spoke to him quietly, once again slipping into French; he was most grateful for it gave him the perfect excuse to hold her closer to him so he could hear her over the din of the crowd.

For the most part, however, her bright eyes took in the spectacle whilst Anthony stared at her. There were scattered comments among the ton that the Viscount and the elder Miss Sharma made an unexpectedly handsome couple, which annoyed him because they had always been a handsome couple.

"My Lord?"

"Yes?"

"I asked you a question, my Lord."

"Forgive me, Miss Sharma. Would you mind repeating what you said?"

She smirked.

"I said we are quite close to the gardens, and thence further the Dark Walk. Might we make our way back to the pavilion?"

"You are safe with me."

"I am far from safe with you, Lord Bridgerton. I should like to find Edwina."

"She is in the able hands of the Duchess of Hastings," Anthony craned his head. "Your sister is dancing with Baron Argyle now."

"Do your kind have enhanced senses also?"

"Most have better night vision and can see further, though the degree to which our vision is augmented varies with each person. Similarly for hearing and smell."

"What of taste?"

"Blunted, unfortunately," he said as he walked them back to the main area. "Or fortunately, from a certain perspective."

"How so?"

The voice was all curiosity and the question was innocent, but they were dangerously close now to the topic of conversation Anthony wanted to avoid. He would not lie to her, but he hoped that returning to the crowd would quell, at least for the rest of the night, any other inquiries she had.

"It takes some time before the taste of blood becomes appetizing."

"But the newly turned of your kind go on wanton killing sprees to satisfy their bloodlust-- we have stories of your kind in India too."

"I assure you, Miss Sharma, it is not because of the taste."

When his wife had learned what it meant to be turned, she refused outright. It was a fundamental, unspoken, not fully fought division between them that they were content to keep dormant until the topic could no longer be avoided.

He wanted to be better prepared; he wanted to make... more palatable... what came after the turning. Present it to its best advantage.

"Here-- it looks like they're going to have some sort of spectacle soon."

Anthony pulled her towards the copse of trees where many were gathered. He saw Daphne and Simon ahead, with Miss Edwina, Lady Mary, and Lady Danbury, but chose to remain where they were on the edges. If Anthony had so desired, he would not have hesitated make a path; he had that effect on people.

But he was unrepentantly greedy and kept Kathani close. As soon as she was reunited with her sister, all her attention would shift.

Reminded of this and suddenly possessive, he drew her flush to him, back to front, and put his arm around her waist. It was dark; no one could see.

"It is with great privilege I present Vauxhall's newest spectacle of illumination!"

Anthony heard someone light a spark and he shuddered, inhaling her deeply to keep himself grounded.

"Feast your eyes above!"

She was here with him. These were members of the ton, not newly turned vampires. She was warm and alive in his arms.

"And allow all that is radiant--"

Then Kathani surprised him by leaning back and kissing the hinge of his jaw.

"-- to overwhelm you!"

The bulbs hanging above them flared with light as everyone looked up and gasped, the light spreading like an unfurling carpet.

Everyone stared up, exclaiming and not noticing Anthony pressing his forehead to her nape. He let go once the spectacle of illumination was complete, then stepped away under the pretense of clapping.

"Wonderful light!"

He kept getting lost in the past. Her head was tilted up to look at the lights, a radiant smile on her face as though nothing had happened.

And nothing had happened-- not to her, not in her memory. Anthony was the one who couldn't keep the past from overwhelming him. It was getting in the way of courting Kathani; while she had an uncanny knack for knowing when he needed comfort and the reassurance of her presence, she was not quite the same woman.

There was nothing which made this clearer than watching Kathani look after her sister and mother.

His wife, four hundred years ago, had grown up with both parents. She was their only child and the apple of their eye. Kathani wanted for nothing and in so many ways was such a pure, young soul. Anthony himself had never had any responsibilities until he married her. He might have been over a thousand years old, but he had not much aged.

It was often said that a vampire was frozen at the age they were turned; that vampirism was not death, but an arresting of all life. There was some credence to the idea that vampires were magic's strange way of preserving different pieces of human history.

No matter how many millennia passed, Anthony and Simon still considered themselves Romans and were most comfortable speaking Latin. They remembered where the roads actually led (and no, not all of them led to Rome), what the aqueducts actually looked like, how the forum was actually laid out, who the most famous orators actually were, how the army actually worked.

Just as Daphne would always consider the bizarre combination of vulgar Latin, Gaulish, and Frankish spoken during the Carolingian Renaissance under Charlemagne to be her native language. (Simon truly did learn Middle French to impress Daphne, but also because her Latin was so horrendous, he preferred to learn another language altogether than try to hold conversations in was he and Anthony considered True Latin.)

But vampires did change.

Anthony had changed profoundly after Kathani's death and taking on the responsibilities of leading the coven. It made him pause and wonder whether she, as she was now, would have fallen in love with him, as he had been then. That after four hundred years of separation, their character and personality still fit perfectly together was only more evidence that she was his flame and he was hers.

It demonstrated-- powerfully-- what it truly meant to be a twinned flame: That no matter what time or distance separated two souls, no matter the changes to psyche and hardships in life endured, they would always fit whenever it was they met again. They may not be the same people, but they would always be the same people to each other.

And he kept getting lost in a past she did not recall; a past with a history and a life made of two different people.

So Anthony smiled as he watched Kathani and Edwina, doing his best not to catalog the differences, but to learn her anew. How could he ever truly fall in love with her-- the Kathani who stood before him now-- if the shade of her forgotten past lingered with unspoken comparisons.

What better way to learn her again than through dance?

Because his Kathani, in the here and now, was a sublime dancer, who never failed to take his breath away.

He could not stop staring at her and was pleased to note: she stared back at him.

Perhaps the English were onto something. All the repression and waiting heightened desire. By the time the dance finished, it was all he could not to lean in and devour her then and there.

Anthony was quite proud of himself for keeping his breathing even, even as he smelled the beginnings of arousal threading into her scent.

He quickly handed her off to Simon, who gave Anthony an all-too-knowing eyebrow.

He danced with the Duchess of Hastings, who always loved matchmaking schemes and told him of all the eligible young gentlemen she had lined up for Miss Edwina. Simon had, for the most part, weeded out the most unsuitable, but Anthony narrowed the list a little further.

He danced with Miss Edwina, who looked up at him with guileless eyes which disguised a terrifically sharp cleverness. She, of course, relentlessly interrogated him with a soft voice and a gentle smile, managing to pull from him admissions he'd had no idea how or why he was giving. None of them were damning or revealing, but she certainly knew when to press into a question to which he'd given a non-response.

What was his intent? To court and marry her, of course.

Did he love her? Yes.

Why did he love her? Could anyone truly explain the nature of love?

A philosophical answer to an uncomfortable question. Then, if he could not name the reasons for love, could he name the qualities he saw in her?

And he gave Miss Edwina an unexpectedly long list; longer than one would have imagined a suitor could give after a few conversations at society events.

Lord Bridgerton was most observant, to see all of Kate's best qualities and recognize their true worth.

Perhaps that was what scholars might call love, he'd teased.

When the Duke of Amberley, the prize catch of the season (according to Daphne) and on her list of approved suitors, approached Miss Edwina asking for her last dance, Anthony made his excuses to claim his dance with Kathani.

As the fireworks exploded and towers raining down sparks lit up the dance floor, all were distracted by Miss Edwina Sharma dancing with Lord Amberley.

Anthony relished this dance.

Unlike some dances, it did not require a complex sequence of movements which necessitated a tedious two hours with the dance master to memorize and perfect. This dance was repetitive-- a single set of movements executed on each of the four sides of a square. Not his favorite dance, not the most intimate by far, but pleasant enough as far as dances went.

What he loved about this simple dance was the opportunity to bring his hand up to her back as he pulled her in, then feel--every time he dipped her-- her relax as she trusted his inhuman strength; until by the final turn, the last of the tension had dissipated and she committed her body entirely to his arms. She did not even need to hold his shoulder. Instead, she transformed it to a sweet caress: another sign of her trust.

When the dance was over and the lights were doused, Anthony pulled her slowly to the Dark Walk, giving her plenty of opportunity to tug him back the other way.

There were already several couples who had the same idea, but Anthony knew a place-- too deep in the gardens and therefore too dark to be seen by humans. He was aware that Kathani was essentially blind as she followed him; it threatened to undo him, how much trust she gave.

Which was why, when they finally found the corner Anthony sought, he helped Kathani take off his evening jacket, unbutton his waistcoat, and pull at the open collar of his shirt. He didn't undress her because this was her hunger-- her self control hanging by a thread. She had been thinking all night about what it was feel like, to kiss him along his exposed neck, feel his bare arms, put her hands on his naked back.

It was improper for a lady to make such advances and have such appetites, or so said society. All those thoughts were nothing compared to her sliding her hands under his shirt and learning in complete darkness each part; a learning which felt like relearning; a darkness which felt strangely familiar.

How did she know to press that spot to make his breath hitch? Why wasn't she surprised by the coolness of his body? How did she know the exact way he liked her to rake her nails down his body, why did she feel triumphant to have elicited the sound?

That was for later; he was here now. Even when it felt like she was nothing but a pair of hands and arms, body only defined by the press of his, otherwise dissolving into the darkness; even when she could not see yet felt his eyes on her, his body taut with hunger and tortured with the desire to unleash his self control; even when she sucked what should have been bruises into the skin under his jaw, at the curve of his neck, but would remain unmarked; she felt like a fire had been lit within and that same fire burned steadily in him for her.

He had been admirable in his restraint and quite well behaved tonight. But the moment he felt her get on her knees and reach for his trousers, he pulled her back up.

We will do this in a bed

Do you understand me

We will wait, because if we do this now, if I take you now, I will never let you go.

Do you understand, Kathani?

Once I have you, you belong to me and I will hunt you down before I allow you to leave me.

You need to understand what this means-- what this truly means

Because if you give yourself to me now--

I won't let you say no

--

He never claimed to be a good man, whether alive or undead.

Changed, yes. In love, absolutely. Insane, highly probable.

Because the truth was, and they had both known--

Four hundred years ago in that unresolved argument, Kathani had known that Anthony was inhuman enough that he did not care about her choice. Whether she wanted it or not, he would turn her. It was likely she would forgive him after some centuries passed, because even in eternal unlife, she imagined it was exhausting to hang onto a grudge for that long.

She would eventually forgive him and take him back.

But she wanted a child.

She wanted to see her child grow, a human, and understand what it meant to live a mortal life.

She wanted to see her child marry and have their own children.

Anthony would never let it get that far.

He would turn her; she wasn't certain if he would turn their child because he was jealous and possessive to the point of mania. It was no coincidence that the house he'd gotten for them was in the middle of the country, half a day's ride from anyone else. It was beautifully built, had all kinds of fruit trees, had fresh food delivered twice a week. She wanted for nothing.

Nothing but other people. He was literally her entire world. It was done in the name of safety, but it was also done in the name of keeping her bound to him in more than blood and marriage. If she were to ever try to run away-- and she never wanted to run away, but this fact surfaced at random intervals during their marriage-- if she ever tried to run away, he would catch her within a single night.

She was half a day's ride from any other human being. And that human being, Anthony had made certain, did not have another horse-- only a mean old mule who'd been mistreated so badly, it trusted no one.

Half a day's ride. Which meant Anthony could find her within half a night, and bring her back home before dawn.

So she didn't know whether-- if they had a child-- if Anthony was insane enough to be jealous of the baby.

They never had a chance to find out; when she was pregnant, he only took the baby in her body as another sign she belonged to him. That he had indelibly marked her by completing the ritual and successfully planting his seed.

But none of this Kathani knew, and none of this Kathani remembered because she and Anthony were different people now; she had come to him having lived a different life.

Still.

It did not mean Anthony was a good man; only that he was smarter, wiser, and cannier.

Yet the strange nature of twin flames was:

He was selfish enough to keep her with chains.

And she was selfish enough to want to be kept.

#bridgerton #kathony #fanfiction #vampire au

[siberat]

Round 5

Half way there! And boy does Rat//chet look full!  And relieved to be freed from that belly panel.  Well, a bit embarrassed too to see his panel fly across the room and clatter against the wall.  But lookit how soft the mess of his belly looks….  Just makes you wanna pet and tickle it, doesn’t it?

Anyways- onto what he ate:

1.     Risalamande- this is a very creamy treat!  This consists of energon rice pudding made with a blend of home-grown cyber-almonds chopped up finely, whipped energon that’s flavored with vanilla and a hint of zesty crystal lemons.  On top are some cyber-cherries and sauce- both of add just the right amount of sweetness. This is commonly served on celebration of the new solar cycle, and even comes with a game!  One whole almond is hidden in the pudding- and whoever finds it wins a gift!  The downside is everyone has to keep eating until the almond is found.  Now, Rat//chet didn’t mind- he ate the whole bowl- by himself! Did Ra//tchet like it- he sure did! And what was his gift?  More food!

2.      Kabobs- who doesn’t like eating food off a spear? Here we have three choices- from left to right: seafood kabob.  You have a variety of ocean dwelling critters to consume- ener-shrimp, bold tasting cyberfish, and robo-chicken- hey- that’s not from the sea! Well, it’s on the spear. All three are grilled to perfection.  Then, to sweeten things up are crystal pineapple fruit to give a nice taste of sweet and tart.  You wouldn’t think pineapple would go with these foods, but apparently, they do!  Middle Kabob- the most appetizing one of them all- an assortment of… rocks.  Don’t that make your teeth hurt?  Not if your Cybert//ronian!  We have a ruby, polished red agate geode, a turquoise crystal, a porous limestone chunk held together by calcite, an emerald, a polished raw blue celestite geode, and another crystal-amber crystal to be exact.  The last kabob- meat and veggie kabob.  You have crisp onions, juicy steak chunks, succulent zucchini sliced thick, crunchy celery, and fungus grown from rich energon deposits (AKA mushrooms). This kabob was dusted with calcium and zinc powder for extra flavor.  Did Rat//chet like it: He enjoyed the seafood and meat and veggie kabob.  The rock kabob was a tad too hard for his liking.

3.      Angel Food cake: Here we have a light yet tasty cake made from petroleum and raw lithium, rich with rust and ethanol flavor- completed with a dollop of sweet energon whipped cream.  This tasty dessert is topped with green malachite and cordierite ore, supplying a good source of copper hydroxyl carbonate and magnesium. This also holds an assortment of colorful agate crunches within the cake itself for extra texture.  This is guaranteed to satisfy your sweet tooth if you have one! Did Rat//chet like it?  Absolutely!

4.      Chips and dip: these are a classic go to snack for parties or even just to munch on something by yourself.  The chips are made from slicing sedimentary ores in thin slices, then frying them in oil. These chips are basic iron and lead based for a nice crispy crunch.  The dip is refried enerbeans with copper chunks, petroleum, and ground up rust flakes. Scoop up as much of this snack as you can!  Did Rat//chet like it?  Yes- it’s a good snack to just mindlessly eat.

5.      Long Island Iced Crystal-tea.  Here is a fancy take on the basic Crystal tea- it has booze in it!  And a lot.  An assortment of engexs, oils, and petrol’s are mixed along with a dash of energon for color.  The drink is best garnished with the sour taste of sulfur fruit.  This is known for having very high intoxicating effects, and known to be enjoyed by the young, partying university bots. Did Rat//chet like it: This reminded him of his party-ambulance days.  But thankfully, he had a good base, so didn’t get so sloshed this time.

 How much more can Rat//chet eat?  How much more treats can that belly hold?  Let’s find out- keep these dishes coming and put this doctor in a food coma!  

*If you suggested a dish and haven’t seen it- there’s still more coming. I am getting some very interesting foods- some can be more challenging to draw- so I try to pair up some harder dishes with some easier ones.  There’s several more rounds to go- and keep the selections coming!

­­­­

#chubformers #fat art #stuffing #food art #weight gain game #siberatart

[lord-pigeon]

Okay as par my notes from last post, Objectively Good Designs (from a design standpoint):

Amber

Barbara

Cyno

Venti

Zhongli

Now this going off a few bits of criteria. Most specifically: Silhouette (can you tell this character apart from others if blackened out), Looks (what their job/personality is by just taking a quick look), Color Coordination (do their colors make sense/not clash), Simplicity (are they simple enough that you can just make them by poorly sketching them), and general vibes

Now Venti, I'll be honest, is pushing it a bit for the Simplicity bit, but if you took away all the details it's still him. Same goes for the others. Now, notably, these are all early and/or manga characters.

Especially for the manga characters since no artist with their mind in tact is gonna draw a gacha character's 86 zippers every panel. My justification under the cut:

Amber:

Originally the postergirl until the fandom shat on her and now she's thrown into barely-relevant hell. Due to that, they clearly kinda gave a shit about what they were doing, so let's go through.

Silhouette: Honestly, the bunny hairband is what makes her pop, when paired with goggles and her hair. Not a lot of characters have that combo when paired with her perkiness, so she does certainly stand out from the crowd

Looks: Goggles, shorts, and a general "aviator" esque look makes me think pilot. She's a gliding ranger, so that's as close as you'll get to pilot in fantasyland.

Color Coordination: Reds and Browns with a hint of white or yellow. Nothing crazy.

Simplicity: Just add the bunny band and her jumpsuit and really you got Amber.

Barbara:

Silhouette: She's generic, but it works for how generic she is. Pigtails, poofy dress, and the nun-nurse-esque cap are her three bits. Her problem is that other "nurse" characters tend to look similar, but her poofy dress sticks out since anime really likes the skin-tight nurse uniform vs poofy idol-esque dress.

Looks: At first glance, you'd never think she was a nun. But with her cap and her pigtails and cheerfulness, you'd def check her down for an idol. Since she's a healing (/nurse) nun...idol....entity, this works fine for her.

Color Coordination: White and Blue with a slight hint of cream/gold

Simplicity: Pigtails and a nuncap, a simple poofy dress, and bam, there's Barbara. She's a harder sell than others because well, she's an idol-nurse and those aren't that rare, but if put against those that aren't her archetype, she sticks out fine.

Cyno:

Silhouette: A very funny situation because of his helmet. His helmet is his silhouette. Since he's meant to be the Anubis archetype, that's almost perfect for him because it almost seems like his head is actually a jackal's.

Looks: Again, as an Anubis archetype, it's hard to fuck that up. He plays into that trope just fine and is actually one of the better versions of it. Anybody who knows about Anubis would probably assume Cyno has something to do with death, or judgement. As basically an assassin for plagiarists, that checks.

Color Coordination: Purple and Black with a hint of gold and white

Simplicity: Jackal helmet and everyone knows its Cyno. Personally, I wish they kept his blindfold and more monstrous bits from the spirit, but guess I'll die. They took away Nahida's character animations ffs.

Cyno is a very weird situation because the Anubis aesthetic is an incredibly solid one, and one that is so good, it doesn't raise to need much change. Of this list, he does feel the most weirdly complicated, but he's also the least dressed one here, so it's a strange balancing act.

Venti:

Silhouette: Typical bardish silhouette, so can easily be mistaken for others his archetype, ala Barbara. Yet if added with his pose, it sort of isolates itself as something unique.

Looks: He looks like a genki bard, he is a genki bard. Peak Leetle German Boie. All he's missing is lederhosen.

Color Coordination: Green and Brown with some white and gold

Simplicity: If you take away all his finer details, nothing about his design will really be lost. It sorta works in that sense. It's weirdly complicated at points, but without it, nothing about Venti's design....changes, per se.

Zhongli:

Disclaimer, this would have been a much different analysis if Chong Yun wasn't released in Arknights, or Yakumo from Nu Carnival existed yet.

Silhouette: A very smooth and elegant shape since he's wearing more or less traditional clothes. It's sorta difficult to gauge Zhongli since he's so rooted in Chinese design, it's like trying to gauge the silhouette of like, donghua characters, since they're so very Chinese, ya know?

Looks: He seems like a serious sort of fellow, and I recall the word ethereal being thrown around back during his release, which is accurate. Of all the archons so far, he really seems the most like a god or divine figure. He looks wise, and he looks pretty. Not quite as strong or brutish as one would expect from Geo, which is the dynamic his statue gave off, but again, a lot of his stuff is rooted in culture

Color Coordination: Brown and gold with a hint of orange

Simplicity: You can put him in MSPaint and it still would end up as Zhongli once all the details are taken out. However, there is a bit of a rising archetype of "brown-themed asiatic pretty boys with vague martial artist skills" which I think he started. Zhongli still sorta sticks out amongst his peers, but well, he has peers now. There's a reason people jumped onto Nu Carnival after seeing Yakumo and calling him BL Zhongli (coughmeincludedcough) and why I personally call Chong Yue Arknights Zhongli.

He's a weird, sorta iconic design like I feel Jing Yuan from Star Rail's gonna be

#but wheres X and wheres Y you must ask #i said objectively good designs #if i was picking favorites id have dehya or itto in here

[nightlight-stardust-and-rain]

Mmmh Shadowhunters soulmate au mayhaps...... With wings!

So Shadowhunters have wings that... Look like their soumates? Kinda? Like the wings' colors represent their soulmates.

Alec has one white-gold wing and the other is literally rainbow-colored (but there's quite a bit of gold in there as well). And sometimes the rainbow feathers glow and this is so not stealthy, he hates it. How do you hunt demons at night when one of your wings is randomly glowing?? On the other hand, lots of pride jokes from Izzy about the rainbow colors. His soulmates are Jace and Magnus, of course (interestingly enough, his white and gold wing has some hidden dark blue feathers near the base. Everyone is convinced that's for Izzy - different base feathers are uncommon but usually mean close but not quite soulmates. He also has some dark gold feathers at the base of his other wing that don't quite fit in. It takes him and everyone else à long, long while to discover that those feathers are for Raphael. He is family via Magnus, after all, and him and Alec become unexpectedly close. Together they radiate enough sarcasm to skin a cat)

Jace has one black and blue wing and one that's orange and cream colored. The two wings look weird together since the colors are pretty opposites by he likes them (and at least his wings don't glow. He will never let Alec live it down). It was pretty obvious that Alec was his soulmate when they met. Clary took a bit more time since her wings were sealed away by her mother to hide them (he has, just like Alec does, some dark blue feathers near the base of his black and blue wing. This is definitely not Alec's blue - Jace's blue feathers are electric blue, not dark. He agrees with Alec that their dark blue feathers are for Izzy)

Clary has a white and gold wing and a brown and grey one. There was a bit of shenanigans about her sealed wings and Jace's emotional repression but they're good now. For a while it was hard to guess who the other wing represented since mundane don't have soulmates. But then Simon became a vampire and got his own soulmate marks and he was definitely Clary's other soulmate. Little bit of tension there for a while. Her gold and white wing also has the dark blue feathers at the base which represent Izzy. The funny part is that it means that her white and gold wing is strictly identical to Alec's. It becomes a private joke after a while. They're soulmate-in-laws!

Warlocks don't have the same kind of soulmate marks - Magnus' palm, where he first touched Alec (or I think so? Bc I refuse to re-watch like three episodes just to make a post), is full of watercolor in all shades of blue and a few shades of green with some amber sprinkles. He also has other marks elsewhere from Ragnor, Catarina, and Raphael.

Vampires recognize their soulmates by colors - they can't see one color (or several if they have several soulmates) until they meet their soulmates. Simon lost the color red when he turned, but given that he saw Clary almost immediately after, it took him a while to get what happened.

Raphael lacked green and gold before meeting Ragnor and Magnus, and he's proud of the fact that he has no romantic soulmate. Universe-validated sexuality, takes that aphobes. Interestingly, the fact that he's sorta just a bit Alec's soulmate is reciprocated. He didn't lack any colors before meeting him, but the color blue did become a bit brighter after he met Alec. He thinks it's both weird and interesting how he and Alec seem to be only partially soulmates. Like, just a bit. It's weird!

The fact that the Lightwoods (I'm including Jace in there) don't have those small green feathers at the base of their wings anymore since Max's death is a bit of a sore point. Sometimes they will use dye (or Magnus' magic) to dye a few of their feathers green to show that Max is still part of them even if he's gone.

#dripping stardust #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #alec lightwood #izzy lightwood #jace lightwood herondale #jace herondale #jace wayland #raphael santiago #magnus bane #clary fray #clary fairchild #Urgh so many tags #simon lewis #Anyway I know I didn't do everyone but if you want to add what you think about other characters go on!! #...... Do Shadowhunters who become werewolves or vampires lose their wings....? #..... Do the wings like.... Fall off...?? #That.... Seems traumatic.

[the-void-writes]

ROYGBIV Color Game

So @adie-dee had an open tag on a neat writing game where you find the colors in your wip(s). I’m leaving this tag open, as well, for whoever wants to join.

I had to substitute indigo and violet with purple and pink. (there’s also a slight bit of body horror in “blue,” so if that’s not your thing, then skip it.)

RED // Paradise: Land of Rebirth

The stylists placed the headdress down on Ruhi’s short, frizzled hair, while a few others adorned her with the traditional jewelry. She had to admit, they made her look amazing. Her red saree flowed like the sea itself, and as she turned, someone gasped from the doorway.

“Wow.”

She turned and smiled at Avir, her greatest friend. He had his hands to his lips in a gesture of excitement. Unable to contain herself, she ran to him, and he spun her around the way he used to when they were kids.

ORANGE // The Freaks of Preston

“What, you think Maddie took the time to shave a raccoon’s tail before taking it home?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Lydia sighed and ran a hand through her very-short orange hair. “I still say possum.”

“Suit yourself,” Will said with a shrug.

“Really, you’re just giving up?”

“I don’t feel like arguing with someone who thinks the Earth is bigger than the sun.”

Lydia glared at him. “Hey, I was young. I understand now.”

Will couldn’t help but smile. “You do?”

She posed triumphantly. “It’s the same size as the moon.”

YELLOW // The Freaks of Preston

The beeping of the heart monitor stirred Jason from his sleep. When he opened his eyes, he was met with white fluorescent lights and a yellowed ceiling. It felt like an airplane was parked on his chest. His left leg was hanging in a sling just above him, but a fiery ache still ran through his muscles. There were frantic voices outside of his room. As he regained his senses, he finally noticed the three other men in the corner.

GREEN // The Freaks of Preston

As his boss mumbled to himself about wasting time on another lecture, Jason strolled further behind with Rio, linking their hands in a way that wouldn’t immediately be recognized by their coworkers. They stayed that way, perfectly content with their shared silence… until a loud buzzing plunged the entire building into darkness, followed by the soft green glow of the emergency lights.

BLUE // The Freak sof Preston (possible tw for body horror)

“Jay—”

He collapsed to the ground. Jason spun around and dashed towards him. He propped Will back up as he continued to cough. A thick blue substance dripped from his mouth, hitting the floor with a sickening splash. Every chair, desk, and cabinet in the room grinded against the wall as they floated towards the ceiling, until the three men were surrounded by furniture. Will’s convulsing grew worse as he slid back to the floor.

“Please,” he hissed, “make it stop.”

PURPLE // FOP part 4

She watched Gazali as he argued frantically into the communication device. Finally, he let out a relieved sigh and waited outside for a long while. Eventually, his mysterious contact arrived, a dark man in a purple suit-vest, like some kind of billionaire. Unlike Gazali’s warm, amber eyes, this person’s eyes were a bright gold, the same way Sophie thought a crocodile might look.

PINK // The Freaks of Preston

He turned to Will and stretched out his arm like a real-life cartoon. “Nice to see you again, Will.”

Will took his hand, staring at it in awe. “Wow, does it hurt?”

“Not at all, hon, just a good stretch. It’s like permanent yoga.”

Kevin’s grin made him look more like a fashion-savvy alligator. His hair was covered in dozens of pink highlights, a stark difference from his dark bug-like goggles. They hid his eyes well enough, but not the red marks surrounding them.

RAINBOW // Our Side of Paradise

The first thing Sophie saw when she woke up was a large park. The trees were much livelier than back home, and its leaves looked more like a rainbow cluster of gemstones. The sky above was the color of a sunset, even though it was midnight when Sophie had left, but stars and planets still shone, clear as can be.

#tw body horror #writeblr #writing community #writing game #wip #freaks of preston #our side of paradise #tag game

[livelysymmetry]

The Choosing

The three pokemon and two girls were running around the front yard together. All three pokemon seemed like a lot of fun and very playful, which suited the twins just fine. That did make choosing their partners a bit difficult though. After a few minutes they settled down and set off on the road to the next house, even though they hadn’t made their decision yet. Their mom had told them off for wasting time, because there was still a long trek to school left.

“They’re all so cute though, how are we supposed to choose?” Jasper asked, her hands behind her head. Fuecoco and Sprigatito were chasing each other around her legs. 

“It doesn’t help that we don’t know what they’ll evolve into…”Amber agreed. She had to pick Quaxly up when it got distracted by the ocean view. She set it down by the other two when it started protesting. As soon as it was on the ground, it cleaned up its feathers, which made Jasper giggle.

“Maybe…I’ll pick Quaxly? I like blue, and it’s acting pretty cute,” Jasper mused,” But Fuecoco is shaped like a friend…”

Amber nodded,”Well, I think Sprigatito suits me just fine, so have fun choosing, Jas.” Sprigatito mewed at its name and rubbed on Amber’s legs. “Oh, yes, you are just perfect. Yes, you are!”

Jasper giggled, and then turned to the remaining two. They were almost to the other house, and she still hadn’t made a decision yet. Why were they all so cute? Ugh!

As soon as they reached the neighboring house, the three pokemon ran off.

“Hey!”

“Wait!”

Sprigatito curled up in a sun soaked patch of colorful flowers. Quaxly made a Combee-line for the fountain to cool off, and Fuecoco, knocked an orange off the tree and burnt it to a crisp. 

They were just about to separate to gather the three back up when they were interrupted by a peppy voice,”Are you two the trainers for these pokemon? Because we should totally have a battle!” The two looked over to see a girl slightly taller and older than them with black and green hair tied into a high ponytail. She was wearing the school’s summer version of the uniform with one arm length fingerless glove and black leggings.

“Uhmmm…”Amber started.

“Well…” Jasper said at the same time.

“Not at the moment, Miss Nemona,” Director Clavell said. “These pokemon still belong to the Academy, until Miss Jasper and Miss Amber make their choice. Speaking of which, have the two of you decided which pokemon you’ll start with?”

“We sure have!” They said in unison.” I want this one!”

Amber scooped up Sprigatito while Jasper did the same for Quaxly.

Nemona gasped,”I can’t believe those are the ones you picked!” She paused, and the twins were about to get defensive,”because they’re like totally perfect for you both!”

The three of them giggled at that.

Nemona sobered up first,”Hey, Director? Can I have Fuecoco?”

“Didn’t you get a pokemon when you first entered the academy?” Director Clavell asked.

“Nope! I was focused on raising other pokemon at the time!”

“Then, of course. Consider him yours.”

“Yes! Now, we have to battle! I’ll see you two at the beach, ok?” With that Nemona ran off.

Amber and Jasper looked the direction she ran off in, wondering how a battle between the three of them would work.

“Miss, Nemona is a member of the student council. She’s reliable and a Champion-ranked trainer. But she is rather enthusiastic about battles. Still, it would be a good idea to humor her, as this would help you bond with both your pokemon and a classmate.”

#Jasper Tag #Amber Tag #Nemona Tag #Director Clavell Tag #Drabble #Basil Tag #Brook Tag

[slasherholic]

Contains: gender neutral reader, torture, forced scarification, bondage, spanking, fear play, body horror, threats of violence, mentions of drugging.

Asa Emory x Favorite!Victim Reader | One More Chance | Chapter 2

part one here

He stops in front of the elevator. Green-grey mold climbs the peeling beige wallpaper on either side of it like creeping fingers. The tarnished doors sit locked away behind a rusting barred gate. You had tried to use this exact same elevator when you almost got away from—

When you disobeyed him, interjects the part of your brain that just spared you your limbs. You had tried to use this elevator when you disobeyed him.

But he had locked it up tight from the top floors, too.

Upon realizing that, you nearly went slinking back to your room. You remember thinking that if you went back, if you crawled back inside your trunk and shut the lid, if you curled up very tight and very small, if you were good for him, when he found you, he might forgive you. There would still be a punishment for jimmying the lock; but if you showed him that you were sorry, ready to obey, ready to let him keep you without a fuss, the punishment might be bearable.

Then you had discovered a vent with a screw loose. Loose enough for you to peel back the grate.

The moment your slow descent to the lobby through the vents began, you knew forgiveness was out of the question. If he caught you before you made it out of this hotel, you would be tortured for it.

There is not a single doubt in your groggy, muddled, drugged-up mind that you are still about to be tortured for it.

He lowers your body to the grimy floor and unhooks his keychain from his belt. The keys jangle as he flips the ring once around his finger and catches it again. 

A shrill cry leaves your throat when his boot comes down on your temple.

He presses the rubber firmly into your cheek, smushing your face against the cold floor, covering your eyes. He’s not going to let you see this part. 

You hear him flipping back and forth between the keys, in no particular hurry to find the correct one.

One,

two,

three locks click open.

The pressure on your temple lifts mercifully away. You watch his boots as he slides the grated rusty door barring the elevator open. When he picks you up again, he slings you over his shoulder, his hand coming down to hold your naked thigh.

There are fifteen amber buttons on the chrome panel inside the elevator. You know your room is on the eighth floor.

Dread knots your stomach when you see the counter above the doors pass floor number eight.

He’s not taking you back to your room. 

The elevator stops on floor fourteen. He steps out, and into a part of the hotel you have never seen before. He starts down the decayed hall.

You pass one of his dolls. You don’t shut your eyes in time before you see her.

The first thing you see is the woman’s guts.

Shimmering in a slippery wet blue-purple pile on her abdomen like a tangle of worms, leaking blood down her ribs from stress-worn ruptures in the meat. The stench of her insides hits you like a kick to the face. You realize you must be smelling the chemicals of her stress and fear, cortisol, adrenaline, the pungent amalgamation of everything her panicking brain released when he did this to her.

It must have been recent; nobody could survive this for long.

She whimpers weakly at the sound of his approach. Where her eyes are meant to be, there are only bloody, glistening hollows. 

Reaching out, he grazes her IV line with his fingers, letting his hand brush her face tenderly as he walks past.

The woman’s whimpers rise into a steep pained cry that twists her features and dribbles quickly back to whimpering when she seems to realize that he has continued on walking, and isn’t going to linger to touch her more.

He takes you to the end of the hall. You hear the jingling of his key ring, the squeal of a turning handle.

The room inside is utterly unlike the rest of the hotel. Clean, tidy, well-furnished, well-lit. The cream colored wallpaper is spotless and adorned with charts boasting detailed portraits of various species of beetle and moth. All the furniture looks new.

He carries you to a long leather ottoman and starts to push it with his leg away from its resting place next to a bookshelf. In the middle of the room, he deposits you belly-down across it. Your arms fall limply to both sides. He steps out of view.

A radio crackles and sputters to life. Some melody plays faintly over it.

This is some sort of study.

You stare blankly at a locked glass case on the opposite end of the room as he moves somewhere behind you where you can’t see him. Sat upon the shelves are rows upon rows of insects preserved in jars of orange fluid.

Except some of them are very clearly not insects.

You shut your eyes, not caring to see what’s in those jars. Behind you, he opens a cabinet door, and starts to push a trolley cart with a squeaky wheel. You open your eyes when he gets too close.

There are two trays atop the cart. One white, one silver. You watch him lift a thin tool out of the silver tray, turning it over in the light, and your heart falls into your stomach.

It’s a scalpel. He’s holding a scalpel.

You launch right back into your desperate pleading frenzy.

Wait, wait, no no no, I’ll be good, I’ll be good—

The words come out as pitiful, slurred garbling. The drug has paralyzed your tongue.

His gloved hand shoots out. He seizes the underside of your jaw, cruelly. The pleading catches in your throat.

“No more of that.”

The order is stern, yet his voice remains unnervingly steady. It is the first you’ve ever heard him raise it above a whisper.

Fresh tears prick the corners of your eyes. You obey him without thought and fall silent.

From a desk in the corner, he pulls up a three-legged stool, and sits down next to you, knees level with your face. The simple proximity to him has your heart beating out of your chest. He wipes your back down with something cold and then his fingers alight to trace your shoulders gingerly. He rap-tap-taps the scalpel he’s about to use on you against the leg of the stool. 

Steadying you with a hand pressed flat on your back, he starts to work.

The bite of the scalpel is unforgiving. Your tears come fast. Before long you’re shrieking, sobbing, struggling to breathe. He doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t tell you to be quiet. His incisions are swift and skillful. You can feel the little flicks of his wrist as the blade sinks in and out of your back.

You see him wiping thin bloody slivers into the white tray on the rolling table, pieces of you. The sensation of the warm blood streaming down your back and shoulders turns you clammy and cold. He wipes the runny red up with a cloth from the trolley before it gets on his ottoman.

When it is over, your mind is soup.

You gape like a fish as you suck in shuddery breaths and stare blankly at his gloved hands as he sets the dripping scalpel down in its tray again, passing it through the light once more, watching it shimmer with your blood.

Your body flinches reflexively as he stands suddenly from the stool. Straddling you over the ottoman, he rearranges your legs to make room for him. His shins graze the back of your thighs as he sits. Pressing his palm flat against the small of your back, he traces your skin gingerly, examining his work. You whimper and cry. He pats your cheek.

Getting up, he goes to his desk. When he comes back you hear the click of a camera, the whirr of a picture printing. With two fingers, he slides a polaroid photo onto the ottoman, and tells you to look.

You tremble and cry. You don’t want to.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

You obey him and look.

You start choking on your own sobs.

Butterfly wings. He’s given you butterfly wings. Wings with intricate, skillful patterns. Their graceful swooping tails reach all the way to your lower back. Bright red pools in the raw pink divots where he removed layers upon layers of your skin.

His hand closes firmly around your wrist. He cleans your fingers with a wipe. Rotating your hand behind you, he makes you feel the slippery cuts.

You whine at the sting, trembling in his strong grip. The wounds are just as deep as they look.

“It’s going to scar,” he states, matter-of-factly.

He leaves the polaroid sitting on the table next to your face as he begins to dress the wound. The cleaning hurts almost as much as the cutting, and though he’s being gentle now you think it would be more bearable if he was being cruel. His light brushes leave you trembling like a leaf.

On goes the adhesive bandaging. You watch him through shimmery tears as he gets up, goes to stand at the glass case, undoes the lock, and squats to reach the bottom shelf. He removes an empty jar and a bottle of preserving fluid.

Going back to the trolley, setting the jar down, he screws off the lid. The preserving fluid sloshes as he pours it inside. Reaching into the white tray, he carefully sets the thin pieces of what he sliced off of you into the preserving jar, one by one. You watch them flutter down and settle at the bottom. He screws the lid back on and writes something in cursive in black marker on the label. Going back to the case, he carefully moves aside a beetle specimen, and places his new collection piece on the top shelf.

He checks his watch. Peeling off his gloves, which are wet with your blood, he deposits them in a small trash can in the corner and removes a new pair from his back pocket.

He doesn’t put them on. When he walks past the ottoman he trails the gloves lightly across the nape of your neck. Your body winces and shudders. You don’t hear him shut the door as he leaves the room.

His confidence in his drug is accurate; by the time he comes back, the only movement you’re able to accomplish is a useless twitching of your fingers and toes.

You aren’t facing the right way so you can’t see the chains he’s holding in his hand but you can hear them and the sound makes a pang of dread explode inside of you. They clank and rattle as he drops them beside the ottoman. He greets you with another soft caress of your nape. His gloves are wet again, with someone else’s blood.

He peels off the dirtied second pair and doesn't bother putting on another.

He crosses your arms behind your bandaged back as you sob into the leather. Snap. The pair of thick shackles close around your wrists. The cuffs are tight and uncompromising. He measures the circumference of your neck with a measuring tape, wrapping it taut around your throat, holding it to the base of your skull with two fingers.

You make fragile broken whines as he fits a stiff steel collar around your neck. You hear the click of a padlock. His warm knuckles come down to stroke your cheek. 

His hands go under your body and he lifts you, sinking down on the ottoman in your place, splaying you across his lap. He grips the chain shackling your wrists behind your back, securing your arms tightly. In his shadow, you see him pull back his hand.

Whack.

A shattered sound rips out of you at the impact. You think for an instant that he has taken his knife out of his pocket and stabbed your backside.

With the next smack, you realize that it's his palm, and that he’s spanking you.

One more and you know he’s about to ruin your ass.

Ten seconds on and your sharp yelps are rising into screams. Thirty seconds and your cries are animal. Your cheeks are burning, blood rushing to the spanked area. His palm comes down again and again. 

You feel him switch hands. His fingers curl around the front of your throat, gripping you above your collar, hot from the friction of his slaps and your own swelling skin. He rests his palm on your bruised bottom, groping the stinging flesh.

“Count,” he orders. “Out loud.”

Whack.

You obey his order through tears, blurting out the numbers between strangled sobs.

Whack. Wham. Whack.

The slaps are brutal. He’s putting all his strength behind it. Your lips are trembling as you count your punishment. You realize you can feel his clothed erection pressing against your side and that makes you sob harder. 

At five, he stops. His hands leave your body, and you hear him fidgeting with his mask. The unlaced black fabric concaves in on itself as it falls to the floor, resting next to his boot.

You can’t look him in the face. You wouldn’t even if you could. You don’t want to see him. 

Gripping your jaw, lifting your chin, he presses his nose and mouth to your ear.

“Shh… Shh shh shh...” He shushes your whimpering quiet.

Brushing your cheek with his knuckles, he informs you that five is the number of days he’s going to feed you with nothing but the tube he’s about to shove down your throat.

#third part may take longer heh #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector #the collector x reader #the collection #slashers #horror #fanfiction #writing #reader insert #tw: torture #dark fic

[lovelylollymc]

dancing with the enemy || wilbur soot

Summary : You know what side you are on in the war and strongly dislike the other side. But during a ball everyone was attending, your enemy decides to ask you for a dance.

Warnings : none! This is kind of like a different time line and I tried to keep it as general neutral as possible btw!

Notes : hello! this is my first mcyt/dsmp fic so I am very excited! I hope you all enjoy!

You didn’t necessarily want to go to the ball. You were tired from fighting the war and working hard. You also didn’t want to see any one who you were fighting against. But, your good friend Dream convinced you to attend with him and the rest of your friends. 

And now, you were standing in a large, gorgeous ballroom. Everyone was mingling and sipping their drinks, but not dancing yet. Another thing you noticed was everyone was sticking to their own side and friend groups. So you stuck with Dream. 

You were standing next to Dream in front of a large window. George was on the other side of Dream and Sapnap were on the other side of you. Dream had on a dark green suit, George was in a sky blue suit and Sapnap was in a amber orange suit. You had on a light gray ensemble which made you stand out beside your friends’ colored suits.

Soon, the music began to play and everyone gathered with their partners to start dancing. Sapnap was pulled away Karl and Quackity. George and Dream went on the dance floor together, which meant you were alone. You sipped your drink and turned around to look out the window.

The sun had began to set and bathed you in golden light, which caught someone’s eye. You sighed and turned back around, only to see someone walking towards you. One of your enemies, the leader of L’Manburg himself, Wilbur Soot.

You placed your drink on the small table beside you as he stopped in front of you. “Excuse me, Y/N, but may I have this dance?” Wilbur asked, bowing slightly and extending his hand.

You looked him up and down quickly. He was wearing a midnight blue colored suit with the flag of L’Manburg patched on. His brown hair wasn’t as messy as it was when you had seen it before. His round glasses reflected the light slightly. You gently placed your hand in his. He led you to the dance floor to join the others.

He placed one hand on your waist and the other held your hand outwards. Your hand that wasn’t holding Wilbur’s  was on his shoulder. Wilbur was softly smiling at you while you kept your face as neutral as ever. He led you in the dance, swaying you back and forth and spinning you every once in a while.

The song continued on and so did your dancing. As much as you hated to admit it, you were starting to enjoy it. You eventually began to smile at him. “I must say, Mr. Soot, you are a...very good dancer,” you said.

“Thank you, maybe we continue into the next song?” Wilbur suggested.

You almost accepted his offer but someone caught your eye in the crowd. Dream was starring at you and behind that mask, you knew he was scolding you. You looked back at Wilbur as the song came to a close. “I would love to, but I’m needed elsewhere,” you replied.

“Oh, alright then,” Wilbur said with a disappointed tone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Dream approach you with George by his side. You brought Wilbur closer to you so he could hear you whisper, “after three songs, meet me outside the front entrance.”

Without another word being exchanged, you pulled away from Wilbur just in time for Dream to grab your arm and lead you away. “What were you doing dancing with our enemy!?” Dream whisper yelled.

“He offered to dance with me and since no one else would, I accepted,” you answered, yanking your arm away from him and matching his angry tone.

“Dream, calm down, they looked like they were having fun,” George cut in.

“I don’t care! That is our enemy!” Dream continued to get louder ever so slightly. 

“George, go with Dream to get some drinks or food or something, he seems a bit cranky,” you said, annoyed. You crossed your arms and before Dream could argue back, George was pulling him to the drink table. You grumbled a few, not so kind words about Dream before making your away to a empty area of the ballroom.

You focused on the music, counting every song that played. As soon as the third song faded out, you quickly made your exit without Dream noticing. The early evening air was a little bit colder than the day’s. It was the perfect temperature. There was a garden in front of the venue, not a large one but big enough for a walk.

After a few minutes, you started to doubt Wilbur would join you. But, as soon as you decided to go back inside, you heard the door open and close followed by footsteps coming closer. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” Wilbur said as he walked up to you.

“I was about to go back inside,” you replied, quietly laughing to yourself.

“How about a walk through the garden? It’s a fantastic evening and we shouldn’t waste it,” Wilbur suggested, holding his arm out for you. With a smile, you looped your arm around his.

“I would love to,” you said, leaning into him slightly. Wilbur took notice and smiled as he blushed. He began to lead you towards the garden as the sun started to disappear behind the horizon. 

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #dsmp x reader #dsmp x you #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur x you #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #dsmp fanfic #c!wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot x you