#( prompt. )

[summercourtship]

Dude, my internet has been TERRIBLE this week. I tried to send you an ask saying it was such a big coincidence that you mentioned wanting to make an NSFW alphabet for your character list, because I was actually looking for an NSFW alphabet for Vulpes Inculta and couldn’t find a single one! I think my ask didn’t go through because of how awful my connection is.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that if you ever do end up making one for him, I’d be so excited to read it! If my ask went through, just ignore this message! Thanks for your time!!

I did not get your original ask so thank you for sending it again! I hope your internet improves!! I also may have suggested doing NSFW alphabets with the ulterior motive of writing one for Vulpes lol.

this is written with the implication that the reader/"you" in this scenario is Courier Six :)

NSFW Alphabet: Vulpes Inculta (Fallout New Vegas) (18+)

warnings: mentions of canon-typical misogyny and violence, sexual themes (duh)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If you have time/want to stick around, he'll stay with you. But he's not going to do much else, he doesn't really do "comfort." Besides, he's very aware of the threats that are present in the wasteland and these are only heightened when you stay in one place for too long. The longer you stay with one another, not paying close attention to your surroundings, the more danger you are in. The first time you stayed in an actual private bedroom together (Novac or maybe somewhere in Vegas that rented rooms), you actually had the ability to lay together after you both came. At first, it was a bit awkward. You were so used to immediately fixing your clothes and getting ready to head back out that the quiet stillness was almost oppressive. But then you placed your head on his chest, his heartbeat rapidly thudding against your ear, and allowed yourself to just... breathe. He placed his hand on your head, almost tentative like he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch you back. (Then he probably ruined it all a few minutes later by bringing up Caesar.)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: I mean, his mind. But for a physical attribute, he would probably say his arms. While they are not as large as some other Legionaries (they have no reason to be, he's not a combat soldier (but also don't underestimate him in a fight)) they are still well-defined. If they only became his favorite once he noticed the attention you gave them, that's his business. Yours: Your eyes. You're wittier than he'll ever give you credit for and it shows with your eyes fill with mirth, and he enjoys the thrill that runs down his spine when you look at him as the two of you walk through the desert. He likes having your full attention, seeing the way your eyes narrow with suspicion at him, and how you roll them in exaggerated exasperation before you give into him. (And, occasionally, he notices other emotions flickering in your eyes, but he's smart enough to know that bringing that up is a good way to lose any of the reluctant camaraderie he has built with you.)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As mentioned later in the alphabet, he does have a thing for coming inside of you. Better than getting it on your skin and needing to waste precious water to clean it up (although he wasn't unconvinced you didn't use it anyway to tidy yourself after the act).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is much more willing to be submissive than would appear at first glance, though it would take some effort to get him to admit this.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Most if not all of his experience comes from his intelligence missions in the Wasteland. Until he met you, he viewed sex as being entirely for manipulation so he quickly learned how to seduce and give pleasure to get information out of people when needed. But he rarely got anything meaningful from these encounters-- he views them as means to an end, nothing more. For a similar reason, I don't think he would abuse slaves or have sex with other Legionaries-- there is nothing to gain from these encounters (and also because they pose a higher risk for disease-- the people he has sex with for intelligence reasons are often of the upper class and typically are clean.) So he knows what he's doing, but it wasn't really until you came into his life that he actually had a reason to be passionate about it, for lack of a better word. Like, it's no longer just another weapon in his arsenal but something he actually desires.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes to take you from behind, as it's the easiest to do in the wasteland, especially if you're both standing, and the one you probably partake in the most. But the few times you have been able to be beneath him on your back have almost taken his breath away (not that he'd ever admit it). Being able to kiss you or hold you close with your limbs wrapped around him while he's inside you is a luxury he secretly looks forward to.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

No, he's pretty serious and intense. As you have gotten to know him better, he has cracked a few (albeit very odd) jokes, but never during sex. (I also think his general sense of humor comes more from dry observations/timing than actual jokes.)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I was going to say that it would not surprise me if Legion men shaved themselves to prevent lice but then I did research and that's not really effective (though it's not like the Legion is a logic based faction). Therefore, he probably doesn't shave. He'd probably only groom to a point that he could pass as one of those aforementioned upper class citizens on the Strip but not so much that he could be confused as a whore at Gomorrah (no one probably would confuse him as such but you know how men get).

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Again, he is pretty intense but he doesn't really have a conception of what "romance" would look like outside of novels he's read to gain insight into methods for espionage. It's not something discussed in the Legion. That being said, after a while of knowing you, he does start to recognize that his feelings towards you are shifting. But this doesn't show up at all during your intimate moments, only occasionally when you catch him looking at you do you start to notice that something has changed. Neither of you want to discuss it, though, so you both ignore it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As mentioned earlier, before meeting you he only partook in sex as a way to get information- purely transactional. If he was ever pent up, he preferred to quickly take care of it by himself, a mechanical process that he viewed as neutrally as taking a piss. And then... then he met you. At first, he didn't spare you a second thought. But once he returned to the Fort after Nipton and was tasked with following you, he found his interest increasingly piqued with every new bit of information he gleaned about you. Suddenly, he was actually desiring someone, actually picturing scenarios with them that made his heart race and blood rush from his head to his cock. The first few days, he tried to power through it until he finally gave in and took himself in hand. (He came almost embarrassingly fast but there is no way you would never find out about that).

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding. It's been instilled in him since he was a child that having children is one of his duties as a Legionaire. Having children with you-- the courier who wrought hell on the Mojave-- would be the highest honor he could imagine. Even if you don't want kids (who would in the wasteland), he is still determined to come inside you every single time. Degradation. I've said it before and I'll say it again: this goes both ways. At first, he may have believed the things he hissed at you, almost angry that you managed to get under his skin so effectively. Calling you a whore, telling you that you were made to belong to him, etc, etc... but eventually, it was just part of your routine for him to degrade you or for you to snark back at him about how disgusting and pathetic he was. He wasn't sure he believed his or your words as much anymore.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

If you can find your way into a private bedroom, that would top the list. (I think it would top the list of anyone in the Fallout universe seeing as it's definitely a luxury). Here, you're able to take your time with one another and aren't constantly looking over your shoulders for hidden dangers. Sex here always takes on a new form-- perhaps it becomes more tender, or maybe more intense, depending on your moods. But either way, it's definitely better than the rushed couplings that occur when you're wandering in the Mojave. The only downside is that you are both very aware that the walls are thin and that there are plenty of other people in the building with you. While this doesn't necessarily stop you from being loud or enthusiastic, it becomes a subconscious hinderance and he is very aware that you aren't performing as genuinely as you normally do. But, when you both feel safe and secluded enough, he does like having sex in your tent or your bedroll if it's outside (or even an abandoned house, if you find one that meets all of his standards for security). It's rare that you're able to find a place that fits these requirements, but he much prefers the seclusion of the outdoors to the comfort that the rooms in Vegas bring. All of the same benefits, none of the worrying about someone overhearing you. I imagine this is the most genuine you can be with each other-- there is nothing holding either of you back from really going at it. His tent at the Fort is also always an option that he reminds you about and he doesn't quite understand why you won't just put away your pride and visit him there sometimes instead of relying on him to find you in your wanderings (he always does).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you willingly give into your desire for him, even and especially if you tell him how much it means nothing to you the entire time, is his favorite part about having sex with you. He would secretly be very heartbroken if you one day stopped fighting against your own desires so much. He's not even sure he wants you to break anymore.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

For a while, it seemed like he didn't really have any turn offs. But then you made a casual comment about him probably counting down the days until you were forced to be his slave and he found that he actually did not like the idea of that. To him, part of the appeal of being with you was the hope that you may willingly come to support the Legion. Deep down, he knew this was about as likely as you returning to the Sierra Madre. But still, he didn't like the idea of forcing you to submit or trying to break your spirit. (Now, the idea of you willingly becoming his wife (a role which, for all intents and purposes, was almost exactly the same as slaves in the Legion) was particularly interesting to him. But he would wait until you came to understand the benefits of siding with the Legion before planting that idea in your head.) He knows that, in order to be with you, he has to tolerate some level of disrespect to Caesar and the Legion. And he will tolerate some. But there is a limit, and you've hit it a few times. And since you refuse to apologize for any slight against Caesar's Legion, it normally ends with Vulpes leaving for a little while.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

When he was having sex for espionage reasons, he didn't particularly care for oral sex (giving or receiving). It seemed like an unnecessary component to the encounter and was often too distracting for the other person to actually give him any worthwhile information during the act. But after meeting you, he found himself actually desiring to bury himself between your thighs. He didn't give into this desire for a while until one day he, almost tentatively, dropped to his knees in front of you. He was a bit clumsy, a rarity when it comes to him, but enthusiastic once he tasted you and heard your delicate sigh above him. Of course, he loves the feeling of his cock in your warm mouth. He's likely to grab your hair and fuck your mouth, reveling in the control he has over you in that moment. What he doesn't know is that you love it for the completely opposite reason-- in that moment, with his hands in your hair and his hips stuttering against you, he is at his most base and feral self, only comparable to the few moments before his comes while fucking you. To you, this is him at his least controlled.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He is rough, though not always fast. He is just as likely to set a rapid punishing pace as he is to deliver sharp, hard thrusts into you that feel like they are punctuating his inner (or outer, if he's talking which he probably is) monologue. Of course, this is not a rule, and neither of you are immune to moments of tenderness with each other. He often pretends that the slow, sensual, almost loving sex didn't happen, though. He's not sure how that fits into his worldview and he isn't going to carve space for it (yet).

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

It is very rare in the wasteland to have enough time to pull out all the stops for sex. So, quickies are really the main mode of sex for most people and that includes Vulpes.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not really-- he is pretty secure in what he likes and feels no need to explore beyond that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually one round is enough to satisfy him, though if you are in a private bedroom/secluded, he will gladly take advantage of the heightened security and privacy and go a few more rounds than usual.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No. He doesn't trust any pre-war toys and certainly not any that were made recently. He also has no idea how they would properly clean them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A large majority of the time you are having sex with him, there simply isn't time to tease. But he's not immune to doing things because he knows the rile you up, even if it's something as innocuous as rolling up his sleeves to show off his forearms if he's in street clothes.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's a yapper (and no, I'm not just saying that for every character I do one of these for because I like dirty talk)! But besides that, he's pretty quiet with the exception of a few grunts or groans. (He holds back whimpers and broken moans sometimes, but you can totally bring them out if you work hard enough.)

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He may bring it up often, but he doesn't actually want you to be taken as a slave or turned submissive. He likes the fight you put up and the way you are unafraid to stand up to him. To take that away from you would make you... not you. He was very alarmed when he realized this since it really went against what he was taught to believe and he tries to keep it secret, as he feels like it could be indicative of his own growing weakness towards you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Average, idk. This is always my least favorite question because I simply do not care.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is pretty low, though that did start to change once he met you (turns out actually being attracted to someone changes things, who woulda thought?). But he's not insatiable and is fully capable of going weeks without even thinking about having sex if you aren't around. If you're around, though, he does find his thoughts drifting to images of you bent over the nearest surface and begging for him more often.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

There is rarely time to sleep after- it is more likely that you'll have to tidy up and head back out on the road. But, in the event that you are either staying in a hotel/in Vegas/or in his tent at the Fort, he is able to stay awake after and rarely immediately falls asleep. He doesn't say it, but he often is distracted by his thoughts after sex. Mostly about you and what your place will be when the Hoover Dam falls to the Legion. Sometimes, though, he thinks about the other possible outcomes-- what will happen to the two of you if the Legion is defeated? What if Lanius takes over before the battle and wants Vulpes out? What if you fall, or are taken captive before he can intervene? He tries to plan for each outcome but entertaining any idea besides the Legion's victory leaves him feeling more anxious than he wants to admit, so he just pushes the thoughts out of his mind and enjoys the feeling of you beside him.

[vorashvan-a]

this is more for my own ability to gauge things because i'm horrendous at it and petrified of potentially making anyone uncomfortable—

like this if you would be comfortable with me sending you ship-related prompts.

[prcspero]

Mentions: @lotharx & @alrikhart & @alessiathepath Location: Dreadnought Prompt: Here Trigger Warning(s): Death

Velkha’thuun

(lit. “Shadowsouled”)

Definition:

A traitor to the light; one who has willingly offered their soul - through oath, sacrifice, or pact - to the Dark One in exchange for power, forbidden knowledge, or survival.

Marked by corruption; a being whose essence has been irreversibly tainted by shadow, often bearing physical or magical manifestations of that allegiance.

Abomination among the faithful; to the Kossathi, a velkha’thuun is both tool and warning, used to sow fear, demonstrate the cost of defiance, and reveal the hollowness of corrupted strength. Usage: “The velkha’thuun will not scream anymore—let his silence serve as proof that the shadows always devour their own.”

A hand slipped from his own smaller one. It had been roughened by many years digging through dirt. Her hand had felt warm. It was a warmth that he had become so used to. They had all become used to the sensation of her warm but rough hand in their own.

They had been distraught when she left.

They had been distraught when she didn’t come back.

As much as his father had told him not to follow that same path, Prospero had hoped that he would see her again in those Arches. He had so badly just…hoped. If he could just hold her hand again, then everything would be alright. Now he hoped he could hold any of their hands again.

His father. His brother. His mother.

All of them had been lost to him and, every day, Prospero had hoped that he could hold their hands again. Just for a second.

It had just cost him the rest of his life.

His bloodied hands were not his own. It wasn’t him, but it was who he had been made to be. Wanting for something always cost something much more dire. And now they all knew what he had given for just the chance to have his family again.

A nail dug through his right hand and he thought of Alrik.

When he had gone through those Arches, he’d had a family. He had so much of everything he wanted that he thought he wouldn’t be able to leave. His son was…so similar to the stoic witch that threatened his life several times over. They didn’t have all that much in common personality-wise, but he had nothing but love for Alrik. He wanted to protect him so much more than he thought he was capable of. Now he didn’t have a chance to.

A nail dug into his left hand and he thought of Alessia.

They weren’t similar either, but there was something that drew them towards each other more than he could ever think possible. He didn’t want to disappoint the two people he thought of as his children. He didn’t want to let go of their hands. Alessia had been so determined to prove she didn’t care that she ended up showing just how much she had cared. It reminded him exactly of the daughter he’d had in the Arches. It reminded him of his brother. Now he wouldn’t get to truly see any of them again.

The last nail dug into his feet and he thought of Lothar.

All of them reminded him exactly of the family he had made for himself within those Arches. If nothing else, he just wanted to sit in silence with that big brute of a man. It felt nice to have someone be there and listen to him, but what made it even better was that he could truly be seen. Prospero wasn’t sure if anyone else saw him the way Lothar did. He wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone else to.

All of these people saw what he had done, but they did not get the chance to truly know him. They didn’t know why he had done what he had done. It had been selfish, but it was all he had. It was all he wanted for the price of his life.

As his lids peeled back, he saw Damakos. He had been holding onto his brother for dear life. He had been holding onto the one thing he could before he had made that wish.

Damakos’ hand reached out towards his, but Prospero could not grab it. He could not hold onto it the way he had so desperately hoped that he could.

The sun beat down on his skin, the pain nothing like he was familiar with. The fire he usually weaved felt like a cool breeze. And, as his skin peeled away, his brother disappeared.

Alrik disappeared.

Alessia disappeared.

Lothar disappeared.

And Prospero faded away.

[zimwy]

"I think I remember getting shot here."

sr4. | @snkts

the way barnes' mind works now is unusual. like logan, there are a thousand cicatrix marks gouged into the soft meats of his hippocampus; he wrests with constructed lies, plies through them to find glass-dust truths. just little kernels of things he'd done, or bore witness to, always as if submerged beneath a sheaf of heavy snow. unlike logan, bucky's never had the leisure of amelioration, or time; his body was corrigible, but so often, he felt his mind was unmoving. stable only in the way a fused bone was.

he knew logan suffered, immensely. he could virtually feel the way it pulsed off him, even in casual conversation.

but at least, he..

bucky frowns slightly. that was unkind and unfair, and though he did not pride himself on his virtues, he tried his best to be a better man. for his father's waning memory, one that lived on only in his head; for natalia, who touched the garden of his buried bones--bloated corpses and misdeeds--with a forgiving sunlight simply by existing in proximity to him; for steve, who maintained a sickening amount of faith that the winter soldier was anything but incredibly sick.

albania proffered dry, hot summers. bucky knew the terrain exceptionally well--he's been here before, and he's beginning to understand why logan brought him with. whether he knows the language or not, bucky does, and can pick through the tosk dialects that waft around them, easily.

they can see the tall, white spire of the ebu bekr mosque from here. i think i remember gettin' shot here, logan gruffs, thrusting a burger bag into bucky's arms.

when he says it...

a memory springs upon him with a force so sudden, bucky has to shut his eyes not to lapse out of the present entirely. the winter soldier is looking through a scope, the city filmed over with a subtle glare, and at command, takes the shot. a young man dies that night, so many years ago. the anti-communist protests disperse in a cacophony of screams.

' i, ' he rasps, throat drying, ' think i shot someone here. ' bucky makes an idle effort at opening that greasy brown bag. ' .. probably not you. though, maybe, i guess.. would've been a different time. '

[roachsource]

first date with lauren compton: love is blind ft. josh potter. you know how it is, tweaked a bit for easier use, and mess with them freely as you see fit!

"do you sleep naked?"

"you know, last night i slept naked."

"i don't do well in heat."

"i love to sleep with the room ice cold."

"this is a sign of my self confidence: i have a large bed, but i still sleep as if i'm not allowed in it. there are three quarters of my own bed i don't even see."

"let's say that you're in love, they're the one, they're your soulmate. but they hate the room at your temperature. what then?"

"that's not my soulmate."

"what do you do to relax?

"i play sports video games. i'm a jock."

"oh, i'm an open wound, and you're not gonna like what comes out of it."

"oh, so you play sports online ... what a loser."

"i believe in astrology when it yields in my favor."

"do you think it's a red flag when someone asks you your time of birth?"

"i've completely lost my birth certificate."

"what are your guilty pleasures?"

"i love drugs, but that sounds a little worse than i want it to sound."

"i love a gaming system. you don't need to feed it, it doesn't need to go to the bathroom. you can leave it for days at a time."

"have your friends ever convinced you to stop seeing someone?"

"my friends have tried convincing me to stop seeing someone."

"i'm trying not to fall for my instincts."

"what is it that you keep going for that isn't working?"

"it's something about my own self - loathing and that someone so cold and frightening would choose me."

"something about that just tickles the right bone."

"i'm going to go ahead and give you a red flag for not learning."

"how would you get out of the worst date of your life?"

"you're not like i thought you were going to be."

"i can't do a pick up line. are you kidding?"

"i'm pretty sweet."

"stop oppressing me with your love!"

"where are you finding these gremlins?!"

"i'm finding these people from the coffin. i have to stop picking up people from the crypt."

"you sound really sweet. they sound awful."

"the sweetest thing someone's ever done for me is always followed by the sourest thing."

[etienneulven]

The air is thick with ash, curling in slow spirals through a dead forest of trees. The sky is the color of bone, and there is no wind, only the distant creak of something ancient moving in the mist. This looks like your pack’s home – if you could remember such a thing.

From the gloom above, you feel the presence before you see it – a towering silhouette with wings that blot out the clouds, gleaming faintly in the stillness. Its face is indistinct, but its eyes burn white, like stars buried under water.

A voice, soft as falling sand, slips into your mind:

“You buried it, didn’t you? That moment. That choice.” Silence. Not a single rustle of a tree, not even you can hear your own heartbeat. “You speak the words of sacrifice, but not the truth of it.” You feel the weight of a sword in your hand, an old one, stained dark with red. But you cannot remember whose blood it is upon the steel. “Tell me, Legionnaire. When they screamed your name, who was it that you turned from? Say it. Speak into the silence. Or has the rot already claimed even that memory?”

Please write a response to this and post it by June 16th on the dash and link it in the writing submissions channel.

It looks like that space between Nornwatch and Lysara except for the ashes falling around him. It isn’t real, it doesn’t smell real and yet Etienne looked down at his hands anyways just to make sure they weren’t graying again. Above him the sky isn’t blue, it is a bright white, as if it isn’t a sky at all through all the ash and fog. It’s suffocating and somewhere in his pile of furs, he forces himself to breathe.  What’s most unnerving is the lack of sound. Not a rustle through gnarled treetops or a breeze sweeping across the expanse of space, but he can make out a figure above. The creature is something he’s grown accustomed to seeing now in some capacity, but it’s a marvel anyways, a dragon.  The creature doesn’t speak, or at least doesn’t open it’s mouth to do so and Etienne’s brows furrowed as he looked up at it, hears it’s voice in his head. Or at least he thinks it’s the dragon’s voice.  There’s a weight in his hand, one unfamiliar and yet not particularly unwelcome and the voice comes again.  Names and faces cross his mind, those of the Legion, those of his friends. Who had he turned away from?  “I think it was me.” His lips don’t move, because through all of the faces, he remembers feeling like he left Etienne Selland behind before he’d even gotten to Nornwatch.  At the end of the bed, Goose kicks him in his sleep and he rolled over deeper into his pile of furs, wondering what the hell it all meant. 

[strigoisak]

You stand in a stone corridor that stretches far beyond reason, built of Amon Sul architecture – but wrong. Too tall. Too narrow. The torches on the walls give no heat, only light that flickers without flame.

Ahead, a door remains open. Beyond it, a voice calls. You step through.

The chamber is cavernous, but shadowed. It smells like old ash and forgotten blood. In the center lies a mirror of water, smooth as glass. You approach, drawn, compelled. You look in. It doesn’t show your reflection, it shows the one you couldn’t save.

Their mouth moves. No sound. Then their body twists. Your own face stares back eventually, weeping black tears.

Behind you, unseen but unmistakable, the vast coil of a silver dragon shifts. The air hums, heavy, but not with sound, just absence.

“This is the truth, Legionnaire.” “All roads end with me.”

The silence tightens around your heart.

“Tell me, who will mourn you when the world forgets your name?”

The mirror cracks.

Please write a response to this and post it by June 16th on the dash and link it in the writing submissions channel.

The architecture is familiar and yet only somewhat. It towers over him, the hall almost claustrophobic. It reminds him more of a tomb than anything and that’s how he knows it has to be a dream. He feels like he watches himself move forward through the doorway, walk up to the pool and somehow it’s even more cruel that his subconscious can’t dream up an appearance for him. Instead the pool is full of Legionnaires. Those he knew from Amon Sul, replaced by those at Nornwatch, and then Veilcrest. They’re screaming but their mouths are too wide, bodies twisting til limbs looked gnarled like the trees in the forest back home from another life.  And then it is him. The him he remembered from so long ago, the last time he’d seen his reflection. But the black running from his eyes isn’t the familiar grease paint he puts around them.  A voice speaks from behind him and the surface of the mirror shatters.  And Isak’s mouth twitches into a smirk and then he laughs, perhaps for a moment free of the control of his subconscious, lucid.  “No one that isn’t already dead.” A non-answer, he thought of his father and how he’d buried what was left of his family far before he’d had fangs in his mouth.  He rolls over in his coffin, feeling somewhat perturbed. 

[recitedemise]

Remember when I used to write Gale thinking poetically about any character interested in something...direly sentimental? I'm open to it again! So, send me a little 'wax poetic' in my inbox, and subject yourself to Gale's monologuing :) It'll be a drabble, and it won't always be in poem format. I'm talking simple poetic thoughts in most cases, maybe overly sentimental, all sharing how Gale regards your character.

[cranberrybogmummy]

Crossover vampires prompt: Abigail (from the Abigail movie) and Claudia (interview with a vampire) hang out and do each other's nails and gossip like old friends.

[prcspero]

LAST NIGHT AT NORNWATCH

Mentions: @alrikhart & @alessiathepath Location: Nornwatch Keep Trigger Warning(s): Death, Drowning Mention, Alcoholism, Vomitting

“The Wheel does not care if you are young or afraid, petty or weak. It certainly doesn't care what you want. The Wheel calls you to this. Whether you can bear it or not. The Last Battle is coming. What any of us wants now is meaningless. The only thing that matters… is what you do.”

Becoming a Darkfiend had not been something Prospero ever expected in life. He’d heard about them. He’d avoided devils like they were the plague because they simply might as well been. But grief and loss drew people to madness. The druid could have never considered himself mad, but those two things had taken a toll on him more than he ever cared to admit. When he thought about losing his mother to the Arches, he wondered if he could have gone into them and pulled her out himself. When he thought about losing his father and brother, he wondered if he could have gotten back to Northreach faster than he had been able to. Prospero couldn’t change the past. He knew that. Everything was supposed to happen for a reason, right? Druids were always supposed to be in the right place at the right time. So why couldn’t he have been there? Why couldn’t he have saved any of them?

Was it their fate to die?

Perhaps it was. And the loss and grief that Prospero had always felt was increased tenfold. And all he could do, day in and day out, was mourn. He’d pour himself into perfecting his magic. He’d focus on learning how to use weapons that could help him in any situation.When that eventually ended up not working, he always ended up looking down at the bottom of a bottle and wondering how everything had gone so wrong for him. He’d made a deal with a devil and, very soon after, he’d fallen into this situation with two witches that he felt like he needed to do everything for.

This was what he wished for, wasn’t it?

Alrik and Alessia. The two of them had been somewhat of a breath of fresh air for him. Where it had always felt like Prospero was drowning, it seemed that he saw their hands reaching out for him when he was just about to lose his last bit of breath. Sometimes he felt like they were more of his saviors than he could ever be for them. Look what he had done to even get in this position in the first place, to look at them and see the family that he had lost. He’d lost so much and he didn’t want to lose it again. So he looked down at the bottom of that bottle again. Horrible mead that compared to nothing in Lysara was all he had to cope with what he had done.

It felt cold, but his own body heat seemed to keep him warm as he stumbled his way back to his chambers for the night. A bedroll in a place where nobody was meant to come back out alive. This was the edge of the world, it felt like. The void that Prospero stared into when he closed his eyes every night felt finite when met with the darkness that crept into the hearts of everyone at Nornwatch. Leaning against a wall, he closed his eyes at the thought and that darkness felt even stronger than it could ever feel.

Once he opened them again, there had been so much blood.

Prospero’s hands had always been covered in blood.

Why was it never his own?

When he had looked behind him, he saw the dead Legionnaire through his blurred vision. Had that been him? A moment passed as he looked at the body. Blood seemed to stop flowing from the other’s neck, death claiming him before anyone could think to stop it. Prospero had seen several dead bodies; he had killed people before for a quick coin.

Before he could think further on it, his body heaved forward and the contents of his stomach, what little there was, mixed in with the snow that had stuck to the ground. He’d heaved over and over again until it felt like there was nothing left to spew out. With a firm hand, he gripped the gate. Maybe that would help with how much the world felt like it was spinning. Hadn’t it always been spinning for him?

As Prospero looked up, his blurred vision that had cleared up only slightly caught sight of the lock that kept the gate closed. Unlatched within the grip of his hand, he thought of closing it. There was a screech in the distance that had him closing his eyes. Things always went bump in the night. Creatures that came from the darkness seemed to tickle the back of his neck as he stared at the unlatched gate. He should have locked it back up, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned off of the gate, tossing his bloodied tunic into the darkness behind him.

“I have to go.”

His eyes closed again as he heard his mother’s voice in his head. Or had that been him? It all felt so blurred. A breath left his mouth as his gaze fell to the Legionnaire’s body on the floor again.

“I have to go.”

That had been him this time. Maybe it had been him the first time, too. But it sounded so familiar.

Stepping over the body, he stumbled his way back to his chambers. It was just a bedroll, but Prospero had slept in worse. Perhaps he had deserved it anyway. A moment passed as he closed his eyes again. His body fell forward and the floor felt like the most comfortable thing in the world.

When he next opened his eyes again, it was to the sound of screaming.

[zimwy]

❛ He’s not what you think he is. ❜

the secret history. | @ag3ntv

barnes' experience with symbiotes are limited. the very thought of them induce lurid imagery--as if some eclectic meeting of winter soldier memory and obtained information since barnes' ejection back into the real world, a soldering done in blood with his mince meat brain and metal traps--like natasha's sharpened teeth, clamping around the upper knob of his spine. it was a sensation he could not explain.

he gets the idea anne may not be like silver, or the venom he knew, but it didn't provide bucky too much comfort. at least, nothing more provoking than his typical quiet, cold reservation. and with the nature of these symbiotes being so--amorphous--barnes wasn't sure where she ended and the alien began, what thoughts were her own. he cannot imagine coming away from hosting one of things without being irrevocably changed.

the idea of giving his body to something, letting it hitch a ride, made his skin itch.

' weying.. --agent venom?-- whatever you like to be called, respectfully, i'll keep my distance. ' spiderman had talked a little about eddie and venom, the last time they were on a mission together (though that'd been when he was still wearing the suit), and for all intents and purposes, he didn't seem to be their friend. ' i don't need to like--or trust--someone to work with them, if it ever came down to that. '

[roachsource]

honeydew #sixty - five ft. justin martindale. as always, a bit messed with for easier writing purposes. get sillay 💋

"i was originally born in ... [sigh]. [place]."

"i kind of just wanted to be like, bitch! sit down, queen! what is she doing?!"

"she's allergic to everything. she's allergic to grass, she's allergic to the floor, she has to sleep on a cot above ground so she doesn't die."

"great, i'm a witness."

"one day we go down to this creek ... of course. it all begins with a creek, doesn't it?"

"just be careful! you know, you don't want to hit somebody with this rock if you skip it too hard."

"she went to a fucking she wolf!"

"you stupid fucking kid!"

"i immediately ran off into the unknown."

"it was like someone showed me a medusa head."

"i don't know if she's alive or dead."

"oh. just wait."

"you have a good night, we'll talk to you later!"

"well you know what, you stupid bitch? you haunted my dreams. you cunt!"

"at what age did you realize your sexuality?"

"i'm thinking of some dirty thoughts in my mind, and there's no one to talk to."

"i can rock a uniform and make it stand out."

"i had fun, cool, nineties bitchy hair."

"i was taking trophies, i was taking plaques, i was breaking hearts, and taking final curtain calls."

"i was involved in theater and closeted homosexuality."

"does it look like i can play sports?"

"are we having fun? okay, good."

"i've been called worse."

"but i rocked that shit out! it was badass. it was awesome."

"i was an idiot. i just wanted to fit in. that's it."

"it was the worst experience. it was awful. it wasn't her fault. i should call her, by the way."

"i take it upon myself to walk up to the stripper and be like, move aside bitch."

"i shushed a stripper."

"i start doing all this shit before jennifer lopez did it."

"that's when security came over and took me off the stage."

"i'm sorry. she sucked. she sucked! someone had to tell her."

"shut up. just return the cake pan. you know what i mean?"

"my sweet tea recipe is better, you bitch."

"it should've been you!"

"next time i come back, we're not doing that."

"ugh. this is so rupaul's drag race of you."

"you've done good. you've really struggled a lot, as a kid, but you never identified it as struggling. you just did it."

"it's going to get way better for you, and it's going to get way worse for you."

"there's going to come a time where you don't know who you are, who you can trust, but first and foremost? trust yourself."

"you're going to pull through at the end."

"never forget who you are."

"ow! that was a hate crime."

[oraculumx]

The Voice

Nightmares were an affliction that Bastien had never suffered from. For what was there to fear when one was fear itself.

The knocking at the door was sudden, hard and relentless, as if the stranger on the other side wished to beat it down with their fists. The doorjamb surely wouldn't hold it in place, not with the force of each new rap against it. The floor is cold as his feet were slung down from the warmth of covers, an intention to discover who precisely could be on the other side. This was not his room in the coven home, however, as a wind picked up on the other side of windows. He moved easily through the smaller room, past the various items of furniture that were... humble, to say the least.

Darkness shrouded the room, so he reached out with inquiring fingers for the wall, if only for it to guide him towards the door that continued to be rapped against. Those guiding fingers brushed against the wooden frames of family photos, which held the reminder of smiling faces. Ones that he did not recognize, ones that drew upon no further memories than that current one. And still, he pressed forward, as fingers ghosted across the jackets that lined a section of the wall, eager to be adorned for the next chilly outing. The jackets appeared to be of varying sizes. styles, and not one of them that would fit his aesthetic.

Fingers hesitated upon one such jacket, lingered as his mind searched for the memories that would tie it in. Until the knocking once more drew his attention, as it grew louder and louder with every step that he took to draw him nearer and nearer to the door. A chill ghosted across the column of his spine, as bumps grew along the expanse of his arms. Something was not right, as his gaze shifted to the spattering against the windows, as clear drops turned crimson under the glow of the moon. The shine of red held his attention, until the bulbs above his head, and back down the hallway burst from the ichor that filled them. And the scream that tore through his throat was involuntary.

Let me in! Let me in!

Every door within the modest home rattled with the force of the knocking, with the fists that beat upon them. The hallway was anew as he stumbled down it, seeking a refuge from the impending visitor, from those that wished to enter the home that they could not. But what was stopping them? Who was stopping them? He could feel the beating of his heart, as if it wished to tear itself from his chest. The voices did not relent as the wallpaper seemingly pulled itself apart. The home was coming undone around him, the voices only growing louder as it did. Begging to be let in.

Hands went to his head, to his temples that throbbed from the voices that screamed against him, as fingers pressed in so roughly. It was finally a singular word that ripped itself from his lungs, through the ache in his throat until it burst into the space around him. Enough! He could have yelled it over and over again as he reared back, as he welcomed the voices to the fight that they would find. And yet, as the word settled around him, so did the silence. The rattling of the windows had ceased, the rain seemingly halted, and the voices albeit nonexistent as he once more stood within the hallway. His gaze shifted up and down, down and up, but the doors were stilled, and the peace suddenly settled once more.

There was the feeling of stillness, of peace, before Bastien was abruptly pulled from his sleep. A cold sweat seemed to cling to him as he stared into the darkness of the room, as his gaze shifted to the walls in search of the frames that would not be there. For the line of coats that had never been a staple for his décor. Even his hand reached out for the Eladrin he knew would be there, but he felt shouldn't have been. Had it been a vision, a nightmare despite none having been dreamt before? His fingers touched against the coolness of Levent, but his ears strained to hear the voices, to seek out the sound of fists against the door. There was nothing there, but as Bastien held his breath within his lungs, he believed that he could hear the faint voice begging him to let them in.

[etheriumhq]

prompts pra hades?

Com certeza o que eu mais gosto é Um líder de uma organização clandestina que protege os segredos sombrios da cidade e mantém a ordem nas ruas. Mas, aqui vão alguns outros:

Uma detetive que tem uma afinidade especial para lidar com casos envolvendo o mundo dos espíritos e do além.

Um carismático líder de um culto que adora os aspectos mais obscuros da vida e da morte, reunindo seguidores em busca de iluminação.

Um acadêmico renomado que estuda antigos textos e mistérios ocultos, buscando desvendar segredos há muito perdidos.

Um praticante de magia negra que tem a habilidade de se comunicar com os espíritos dos mortos, sendo tanto temido quanto procurado.

Um terapeuta que se especializa em ajudar as pessoas a superar traumas e lutos, guiando-as através de jornadas emocionais intensas.

Um talentoso construtor que é conhecido por criar monumentos impressionantes para honrar os mortos.

Um conselheiro que auxilia os que estão enfrentando a transição para o pós-vida, oferecendo orientação e conforto.

Um conselheiro que auxilia os que estão enfrentando a transição para o pós-vida, oferecendo orientação e conforto.

Um líder carismático de um grupo secreto que explora e estuda os mistérios do mundo além da compreensão humana.

Um erudito que trabalha em um museu dedicado a artefatos e mitos antigos, com um interesse particular na mitologia grega.

[recitedemise]

So, as I finish up my starters (yay), what about a fun little game of dragging our feet through Gale's poetics to sprinkle in between drafts? :))) I don't think Gale would necessarily sit and write poems about his companions, but he may have had quips run in his head or comparisons, pretty images, and verbose lines centered around them. I love thinking of new ways to put words together, too, so if you send an ask reading 'Wax poetic,' maybe I'll have Gale flex his honeyed-up prose thinking about your character. He did mention trying his hand at poetry when you first encounter him....