#3500 characters long | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emotionallyattachednerd · 10 months

Text

Eternal Soul | IDW Rodimus/Hot Rod x f!human reader | NSFW 18+

Word count: 3500+

Warnings: Smut ( oral, sex, size difference and first time ) and robot on human. NSFW 18+.

Notes: Don't mean to sound creepy, but I enjoy the virgins. Something fun about first timers. Thanks @lonetile for sending through. Sorry for the wait. Once again, like many times before, I went a little crazy with the length of this. Hope you all enjoy. 🥰

☕ Coffee

Being the only human on the Lost Light crew was very exciting, but also hard, though you managed to find some sort of adjustment over time and to fit in with the new species. There is something though that has been on your mind, and you wish you got it done and over with before leaving earth.

You're still a virgin.

The last thing you want is to be a forty year old virgin, not that you were close to that age, but you didn't know just how long you were going to be away or if you were ever going to return to earth. It made you feel weird, and you wish you just hooked up with someone just to get the deed done.

Everyone was great, big, but allowed you to fit in. Each one has their own personality, different characters, but only one stood out. Rodimus is quite the charmer, silly, very flirty with you, and you find yourself falling for his charms.

At first you took it as his type of character, it's how he speaks to a lot of people, but over time you realise the tone difference when he's around others or around you, it's more smoother, husky even.

You never even imagined to be attracted to another species, yet here you are, almost drooling over the sight of Rodimus. Then it happens, he invites you back to his quarters, to talk more in private.

It gets more difficult though when he suddenly downsizes himself. Still large, but closer to your size. Apparently their species can do this and they call it mass displacement. The very sight of him like this gives you very sexual ideas but you force yourself to put these in the vault, for now at least.

Another thing that surprises you is the amount of comforts and silks he has on his berth. You didn't think his species had such things, then again you're still learning about them. More things will probably surprise you along the way.

"Are you alright? You look uncomfortable?" You're snapped out of your thoughts when you hear Rodimus speak right beside you, and you realise that you've been quiet, you probably look so stupid.

"Oh! I'm fine..."

"Sure, you look completely fine." Rodimus chuckles lightly. Damn that laugh. "Come on, you can tell me anything. I promise to keep all your deepest and darkest secrets to myself." He sends you that upturn charming smirk.

"Yeah, right." You can't help but snort softly through your gentle laughter before clearing your throat nervously. "Just...alright, look, you've been really nice to me the moment I arrived, helped me fit in and even spent time with me. You're...nice."

"What can I say? I'm a terrific guy!" He sits with his legs spread wide, cool guy style, helm tilted and optics directly on you. Jesus Christ.

"Is there a real reason you've been nice to me?" You cross your legs, sitting comfortably on the comforts under you.

"Do I need a reason?" He quickly adds on. "Well, I'm curious about you, don't meet many humans, and I find you rather cute." Its time for you to blush. He chuckles noticing this. "Ah! Even cuter when you get that hue going. Guess my charms truly work on you."

"You have no idea..." You murmur, and finally, you ask. Fuck it. "Sorry if this is weird, but I was wondering, does your species have sex?"

"Yeah!" He chuckles, answering as if it was nothing. "We call it 'interfacing' though. Why do you ask? Do you want to fool around?" There it is again, that husky tone.

"I-I mean...maybe?"

"Great! Let's get it going then!" He's suddenly on top and presses you down onto the comforts, about to kiss you but you stop him.

"Wait" You push against his chassis, panting heavily, slowly trying to recover from what just happened.

"Oh, sorry, too much? Thought we were both wanting the same thing? Or is there a weird human thing I don't know about?" Rodimus rambles as he sits up and gives you a little more space.

"I do! I-I do want that, but there's something you need to know about first, and I don't know how you're going to react."

Rodimus narrows his optics, watching them drift down and up your body. "Are you secretly a male? Because if you are, I'm totally cool with that."

You stare at him, baffled. "What? No, no I'm not. Jesus, don't you have any limits?"

"Not really." He sounds so proud of himself, making you giggle lightly.

"Alright, well, you should know that...I'm a virgin."

Now that's something he wasn't expecting, and ends up staring at you blankly through widen optics. The lingering silence makes you anxious and you meet his gaze, only to notice something in his face. "That turns you on, doesn't it?" Of course it does.

"It very much does. Sure, I've claimed some virgins in my time, but never a human, so I feel pretty damn lucky right now." He hovers over you closely, that charming upturn smirk plastered across his face.

Your nerves slowly start boiling up through you. Sure, you want this, but you are still agitated and processing what you are feeling. You weren't oblivious when it came to sex, you've watched porn, and some friends from earth have told their experiences.

"Scared?"

"A little." You admit through a shy murmur. That spunk is gone from him.

"Listen. I don't want you to feel pressured, so if you want to stop we can. But if we continue, I promise to go slow, whatever pace you want. I'm rather skillful so you've got the best offer here for you." All that smugness is gone and he's being all tender and caring. He understands you're nervous, and is being a real gentleman now.

This is happening, you don't want to back out.

"Alright, I trust you." You manage to answer through your shaky voice.

Rodimus is going to show you the best time possible, leaving no regrets and you only wanting to lay with only him. "Let's try this again."

He leans down again and this time you let him kiss you. It's soft and warm, not what you imagined kissing a robot would feel like, it's oddly delightful, and you lean into the kiss slowly, moving your hand up to caress his cheek.

You feel his glossa running across your lips before dipping between them, coiling with your tongue and letting out a low moan against you. There's a warm metallic taste coming from him, but there's a sweetness in it, surrounding your taste buds and causing you to moan softly in return. Sure, you've kissed guys before, but nothing compared to this kind of kiss. It was very sexual, needy, yet calm.

His servos observe over your body against your tight fitted clothes, sneaking under to touch your warm skin. He breaks apart from the intense kiss, letting out heated vents as optic downcast across your body curiously. "So, maybe you could help me out? Not used to these clothes you wear, kind of new to me."

"Alright." You're still nervous but bottle it up as you proceed to remove your clothes. First your tights, then your tank top, leaving you in your undergarments. Rodimus tilts his helm curiously at you, watching you remove your clothes slowly as he admires every inch of your soft body.

Unhooking your bra you can't help but hold it against your breasts for a moment before finally letting it drop. Then you slip out of your undies, kicking them aside and leaving you baren naked for him. You're flushed, heart hammering, feeling very exposed in his lustful optics, watching them glow brightly against you.

Silently he crawls closer, servos running up against your hip and up over towards your breast. Feeling his soft padded digits against them makes your breath hitch and nipples perk out from the contact.

"So soft." You hear him say through a gentle tone. "These can be played with, right?"

"Yeah..." You can't help but flush in embarrassment, earning an upturn smirk from him.

"I bet you've touched yourself plenty of times." His words cause you to stutter silently, earning a snicker from him. "You're so cute when you blush. Don't worry, I'll take very good care of you."

You find yourself laying down again on your back, Rodimus hovering over your naked body as he skillfully touches you all over, focusing on your breasts as he massages them before leaning over to gently drag his glossa against your perk nipple.

This causes you to arch your back, a surprised gasp leaving you, feeling nothing but the buzzing electric pleasure that rocks through your body. He likes your reaction, smirking smugly at her before taking the whole nipple into his mouth.

A lavish moan erupts from you as he does this, humming around your delicate nipple while circling his glossa around the bud, sucking as if he was a hungry baby. You feel his servo drift down between you both and touch your inner thigh making your skin quiver in delight. You then feel his digit glide up across your soft curls and against your pussy. A sudden shame tightens in your chest and he feels your body tense up, making him stop his movements and let go of your nipple with a slick pop.

"Is this alright?" He proceeds to place a kiss against your shoulder as her shifts himself back up a little. The tender contact makes you give him a bashful smile.

"Yeah. I just...don't want you to think I'm weird and hairy." You don't shave often, seeing no point, but you don't want to feel grossed out by you.

"Nah, not even close. You're an exotic beauty, gorgeous, and you have a seductive vibe that is really making me hot." He sends you a playful smirk. "So, can I continue?"

He's not your average guy, not in the slightest, but you think that's what makes this a little better to relax yourself. He's not one to judge, but to enjoy himself and make sure you have a good first experience. All you can answer with is a nod, and he continues, moving down across your body.

His warm kisses trail down lightly, across your breasts, stomach, moving between your thighs causing your breath to hitch from the tingling contact. His servos smooth against your hips and up over your waist, mouth lingering and heated vents hitting your very core, feeling his lascivious optics looking at you for just a short moment, before you feel his servos spread your thighs wider and his digits parting your pussy lips.

A jittery gasp escapes, feeling yourself exposed makes your body fidget slightly. Sure, you've touched yourself before, but no one has ever touched you like this.

"What a pretty tight flower you have." Rodimus whispers seductively, his dentas nibbling at his lower lip while he admires your fleshy pinkness, so much like a valve much to his delight. It means he knew exactly what to do with you. Leaning closer he gently drags his glossa between your folds and across your sensitive clit, letting out a groan that rumbles from his chassis.

A surprised whine erupts from you feeling him do this, so little yet with a strong reaction, it feels intensely good.

“Oh, I love that sound you make.” He drips out lustfully through a smug smile. "I can't wait to hear what other sounds I'll hear from you." He then moves forward again, nuzzling his mouth against your pussy and starts to lap at you slowly and eagerly, drawing out your sweet juices as you crane your neck back against the comforts and let out short blissful whimpers.

His glossa rolls between your folds before feeling it dip into your tight entrance causing your breath to hitch, mewling softly as he starts to feast upon your pussy and lap at your sweet dew all for himself.

Your hands grip at the comforts you lay under, eyes fluttering close as you spread your thighs more for him, melting under his erotic touches and glossa. This is so much mroe different than touching yourself, it's a thousand times better, a growing pleasure you've never felt before. You love it, every second of it.

Rodimus lets out a lingering moan against you, craving your sweet juices leaking constantly for him, drinking up everything you give him as your hips shimmy under his servos, moving in sync with his glossa.

His lips suddenly latch onto your clit and he sucks hard, causing you to mewl aloud as shivers through your body. Rapid pulses rush through you over again, eyes screwed shut as your mouth hangs open with lingering moans.

Suddenly, he stops, making you pout and causing him to chuckle lightly. "Oh don't worry, I'm not going to leave you hanging for too long." He moves back up and kisses you smoothly, tasting yourself at his lips and feeling his digit prob at your entrance before he pushes in your tight depths.

A whined hiss leaves you against his lips, the stretch is new and you are not used to it, but you try to relax by spreading your legs more and letting your body adjust to his exploring digit curling gently against your inner walls.

"So tight." He says as if he was praising you. "Frag, it's going to be a snug fit for my spike. Getting me really riled up here." Your cheeks bloom red hearing his words tickle against your ear.

"Just...please be gentle." You are worried it's going to hurt a lot, even though you're so aroused, you're still nervous about what is about to happen.

"I'll be gentle, don't you worry. You're soaking wet, so my spike should glide in with ease." He assures you before adding a second digit, stretching you further a little.

Your breath hitches but the pain wasn't so bad as you clench around him, hips moving slightly with his slowly pumping digits as he sucks at your tits again, letting out eager moans against you while you arch your chest up against his warm mouth latched onto you.

"Fuck." You breathe out through a moan, eyes closed as you lick your lips ambition.

Rodimus smiles against your nipple before letting out and gazing up at you. "Oh I love these babies, they are so soft and sensitive. I just want to bury myself in them."

Hearing this causes you to giggle tenderly through your growing arousal. "Yeah? Well, you can play with them whenever you like."

You say it before you think about it, however, he lets out a proud grin. "I was hoping you would say that. For now though, I want to make you mine, and claim your innocence."

There's a sound that confuses you, like metal shifting, then you feel something long and warm running up against your inner thigh causing your breath to hitch before glancing down.

There in plain sight was his cock, or his spike as he would call it, and you can't help but swallow thickly at the size of him. He's so thick! Bumpy ridges cascaded along his length, red luminous lines surrounding, and pink fluids leaks from his twitching tip, running around his spike to drip down onto the berth. You didn't even realise you've been staring so long and hear his playful snickers.

"Am I truly that impressive?" He leans closer as he asks this, caressing your cheek as his spike rests against your pussy.

"Yeah." You admit through a bashful smile. "You're rather big. Will you fit?" You can't help but question.

"I'm sure I'll fit. I have no doubt that you'll be able to accept my spike in your tight body. So, shall I pursue?"

All you can do is nod for your answer, feeling his lips against your own again as you rub your hands over his shoulders, a way to distract you as he positions himself and pushes into your tight entrance.

It's happening. You feel his pulsing length invade your heated core until he is met with resistance, lifts your leg up against his hip before pushing more firmly, and you feel the sharp pain snap through you.

You're no longer a virgin.

The pain wasn't so terrible but it does sting and ache still, feeling him going slow as he pushes further in, feeling his ridged spike pulsing rapidly through your channel while he kisses you slowly and passionately. You moan, both pain and pleasure, and he groans in return while his glossa coils eagerly with your tongue.

Rodimus is now pressed firmly against your pussy, fully imbedded, as he keeps still to savour your tightness clenching around him. You feel so full, which causes you to move your hand down between you bodies and your breath hitches when you feel a bulge against your lower belly caused by his vast spike throbbing in you. He does the same to meet your hand and feels it, making him break the kiss and lets out a lazy grin through his flaming arousal.

"See? You took all of me so well. You're so tight, can feel everything in you, feels fragging, wonderful, tightest valve I've ever had. Are you doing alright?" To hear him ask was kind of him.

"I'm alright..." You whimper out softly. "Please, fuck me, I want to feel it all."

"Have it all you shall have, darling." He says before he starts to move, pulling out gently, noticing the wet crimson along his spike indicating your innocence is no more. He feels rather proud of himself to be able to be your first. Gently, he rolls his waist back in, fully imbedded, and sets a calm pace as he fucks you, groaning lowly repeatedly.

Your legs tighten at his waist while your hands wrap around the back of his neck to hold onto him, soft mewls erupting from you as you feel yourself rock gently under his movements. The pain dulls and you casually now feel only the growing rush of heat flooding through you, feeling your clit rubbing against him with his movements in perfect sync.

The bulge repeatedly expands against your lower belly over again as his spike reaches deep, claiming every bit of you. Your body rocks and shakes under his slowly growing movements, thrusts becoming shorter and firmer, heated grunts formed out from him as he holds a tighter grip against your thigh and hip, watching himself entering your pussy over again. His spike hits your g-spot causing your back to arch sharply.

"Fuck! Oh fuck!" You cry out in bliss, the pounding pleasure boiling rapidly through your hot body, pussy accepting every inch of him as he snaps forward over again. There's no holding back now.

"Fragging pit, feels so good! Sucking me whole, such a good girl. Yeah, that's it, keep clenching. I'll fill you deeply with my fluids, over again, make sure your body drinks everything I give. Do you want that, huh? Want me to frag you always?" His heated vents hit against your neck as he leans closer again, pace firm and hard as he tugs you against his solid movements.

"P-please..." You whimper out as you struggle with your words.

"What's that? Go ahead, tell Roddy what you want." His rough movements are intoxidating, you crave every bit of it, clenching around his throbbing spike even more, feeling your pleasure about to snap.

"You!" You cry out in ecstasy. "All of you!"

"Take all of me then!"

Burying his face into your neck he sets an abrupt and hard pace, jackhammering against your body as he bends your leg up over his shoulder, stretching your body and you love just how much you can flex under his strong movements. He grunts hard into your ear, each thrust creating another animalistic sound from him as you fall apart under him, lust consuming every bit of you and him in the rapid movements, before you feel yourself about to crumble and don't hold back, cumming hard around his thrusting spike buried deep in you.

Your orgasim is what sends him over the edge as he lets out a lingering throat loud moan followed by the warm trans fluids flooding your channel, overlosding himself within you. His movements continue, slowing down and giving small jerks against you so he can savour every bit of you still.

You're a painting mess, moaning as you feel his spike still buried deep with the bulge and fluids embedded deeply, allowing yourself to catch your breath as he slowly comes to a stop.

Rodimus tilts your head and shares a kiss with you, tender and loving kind, before looking deeply into your eyes through his hazy optics.

"So, pretty good right?" That smugness in his voice is cute.

"So good." You answer without lying.

"Think you can handle a second round?" He gives his waist a teasing thrust, spike twitching through your inner channel that makes you whimper softly through a cocky smile. Sure, why not?

"Let's find out."

#transformers #valveplug #idw #mtmte #rodimus prime #hot rod #reader insert #rodimus x reader #robot x human #smut #fanfiction #writing #sugarrusheag

216 notes · View notes

shalotttower · 7 months

Text

Cultivating Flowers

Title: Cultivating Flowers

Fandom: Original

Summary: Marquis is a man of many interests, including gardening. Specifically, his new roses.

Word count: 3500+

Characters: OC!Marquis x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere!OC, manipulation, animal cruelty (not detailed, briefly described), seduction.

The first bloom appears two weeks after spring starts and it's the most glorious flower in all Marquis' garden. Gentle apricot color, like your favourite dress. You were saving for months — a whole autumn — and grandfather grumbled and grumbled about the frivolous waste of money, but once you finally put it on, his scolding didn't matter a bit. The dress made you feel like royalty — elegant, graceful, important.

You wonder if this is how Marquis feels all the time.

Gorgeous outfits, a splendid castle, a life of aristocracy and ease where everything is taken care of by servants and every other weekend there's an opulent dinner party full of refined conversations.

Your envy for him is almost as big as your caution.

Marquis Nicolae is rich. Like many rich people he possesses time. And when one has too much, they become terribly, infinitely bored. That's what grandfather told you in one of his drunken rants: people who are rich, castle-rich, private carriage-rich for generations are bored like nobody else, because nothing is scarce to them and so nothing is precious either. Work for them. Take their money. Keep your head low and remember — they don't see us like we see them.

Grandfather doesn't work in the castle anymore. He's got old hands which shake from years of physical labour and fruit brandy, back-aching hunched posture and swollen feet that need rest. Now he stays at home, waiting for you to return with stories and bread rolls baked by the cook.

He used to serve Marquis Nicolae's father, who was twice as rich, but thrice as wicked, according to grandfather's words.

"I was a stableman, your grandmother was a seamstress, God rest her soul. Sewed all my shirts, this one included," he tugs at the fabric with pride. "She did well on it... Look at those stitches."

For a moment he gets lost in muttering and rubs his index finger on an even patch of stitched fabric, as if hoping his touch can conjure a spectre. "Not like now, where clothes fall apart after just three seasons. Quality... Sturdiness," he smacks the table. "People used to think long term. Made their shirts for decades, strong like this."

Grandfather is forgetful these days, he leaps from one topic to another and loses the main line of thought, especially after a few glasses. But you wait.

"When I worked for Lord Cazimir, you see," he says finally. "He had horses, all strong, sleek, looked like jewels. A new horse each two months, said it wasn't right for a gentleman to have one for too long, but by God, I never saw a man treat them worse than him. Not enough sleep, ridden until bones hurt. If the carriage hit a stone, it was the horse's fault, if the reins got tangled it was the horse's fault, not the bloody driver. He had that whip with metal feathers which could cut through an apple. And before he made the last swish, he'd pause. Look the horse in the eyes. That was the scariest thing, how he stared at them, so calmly."

He glances at you, as if fearing an admonishment. For what? You wonder how it felt, caring for something that looked like a jewel time after time, after time, and knowing the goodbye was certain and inevitable, like a turn of a watermill wheel. Did grandfather mourn the horses? Or did he get used to burying their bodies under the soil? Maybe they fed someone later — people who don't have much are resourceful, they don't bury good meat.

You squeeze the water from the sheet in silence.

"None simply lived past two months, that's why he changed them so often."

"Why didn't you quit?"

"And then do what?" Grandfather snorts. "There was little job outside the castle, everyone who didn't have land or livestock worked for Marquis one way or another."

"It must have been difficult."

"Life is difficult," he answers, and you can't disagree.

Life is difficult, that's a fact, and it didn't get better when you started working for Marquis Nicolae yourself. A good thing is that unlike Lord Cazimir from scare stories he doesn't torment horses and rarely pays attention to anybody in a servant uniform. All of you share the same mindset: a quick "Good morning, m'lord" or "Have a pleasant day, m'lord" and then being gone as fast as possible.

Rumors circulate that Marquis never once had a full smile on his face. Charming chuckles when he's in a good mood, courtly lips stretches for ladies, bemused sneers when he's addressed by those who used to be in favour but now are out — yes, but the genuine and full-hearted joy: nobody has witnessed it.

He doesn't seem unhappy though, nor he is too serious. When you see him Marquis Nicolae always looks like he has eternity at hand and there's no hurry to spend it. To you, he is uninterested in anything and sharp about everything at once.

You can't describe him better. Words fail you when trying to fit him into boxes of easy understanding. But after all, it's not your job to fit him anywhere, your job is dusting shelves and scrubbing floors, and, since recent days — taking care of roses.

It's unusual for the castle to have such plants this early in spring. They're imported, said the gardener, from cooler places and prefer winter over the blooming season of May and June. That's why Marquis commissioned a greenhouse construction weeks prior, to have beautiful flowers which can bloom regardless of the weather. It took an entire month of hard work, people hired from nearby towns and a promise of good money. You watched them build from the kitchen window where you were helping with meals.

Roses arrived next. Seven bushes filled with buds ready to open up any day. And oh they did. Soft apricot colors covered stems like dewdrops, beautiful enough to make one gasp.

One morning you bring your rag and a bucket to the greenhouse a bit earlier to enjoy the fragrance before breakfast is served. Nice things like these are not for maids like you — the petal scent and the gentle touch of leaves — they're for ladies in beautiful dresses who have time and luxury to appreciate them, but nobody will know anyway if you stop to lean down close enough for your nose to almost bury itself in velvety softness. It's a small indulgence which can hardly hurt anyone. Nobody will know if you pretend to be a lady just for a minute.

"They're quite extraordinary, aren't they."

You freeze, nose in the middle of the rose bush.

"I- Yes", you straighten up and curtsy. "They are most beautiful, m'lord."

Marquis' figure, backlit by the morning sun, casts a shadow which stretches far beyond your own feet.

"Do you know why I chose it?" he asks. "This breed."

He's dressed in a dark waistcoat with delicate embroidery on the collar and doesn't have a single hair out of place, not a strand too thick, not a strand too thin; as flawless as a painting which hang on the walls of his library, but not as solemn. Those paintings seem to measure everyone around them. Marquis Nicolae looks more approachable in appearance, and that's where the approachability ends. His eyes, burgundy brown colour you've never seen before, measure people too, in value rather than worthlessness.

You shake your head, "No, m'lord."

"Because," Marquis continues without minding your answer at all, "it's pretty."

His lips stretch in a courtly smile of a gentleman who is amused by his own joke. You don't understand it but smile in return anyway, because you must. Because this is how the world works — nobles are amused and maids fake understanding so the amusement can persist a little longer.

"Go on," he says. "They are meant to be smelled after all."

You nod and curtsy again.

Later he will be served tea at the ornate greenhouse table while you scrub the floors until your fingers ache. Marquis' focus will shift towards letters, and this is how it's supposed to be. Him reading correspondence, you being invisible like dust under the shelves you clean. It feels better when he doesn't look at you with those eyes of his. They pierce through everything they see.

There's something wrong about him. But you can't tell what yet.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Life is monotonous, especially in a place like this, even banquets and events have that homogeneous taste, because there's at least one every three weeks, not speaking of brunches which rotate regularly depending on who's currently in Marquis' favour. You serve dishes full of rich fragrances that make your mouth water but can't ever dream of trying them. Meat dripping with wine sauce, roasted chicken breasts wrapped in crispy bacon and glazed with honey syrup. Fresh fruits coated in powdered sugar. Sometimes in the evening when everyone is asleep you mouth the names of those meals: "Beef Bourguignon," "Veal Piccata", "Chicken Florentine". Those foreign words are hard to pronounce — Beef Boo-gee-nyon, Veel Pick-kata — you do it quietly and mostly in your head so grandfather doesn't hear and scoff about wasting time on useless things.

"You're not starving," he would say. "There's bread, there's soup, you don't need those. Be happy, girl. We used to eat potatoes for months straight during famines."

You've never been hungry enough to know what famine tastes like but suspect that the flavor must be something similar to the dull feeling between the busy hours of work, which gnaws at you and makes your thoughts drift to the lunch break.

Sometimes, in a particularly sour mood he adds, "Don't stuff your head with fancy nonsense you can't have, it's only gonna make you bitter."

True.

You're a maid. A girl. A nobody.

And this is how it's supposed to be.

How to tell grandfather that you don't wish to be fancy? Just to try once the roast duck stuffed with grapes and apples, or fresh sardines baked in butter sauce, which smell heavenly as they're carried up the stairs to Marquis Nicolae's salon where guests are gathered.

How to tell him that it's not about food, not really.

It's about knowing what an apricot rose smells like early in the morning while others sleep. How velvety its petals feel when touched. Delicate things like these you're not supposed to have, but do anyway, because a moment stolen out of monotony pulls you from beneath the apron. You, yourself, not just a pair of hands with tired fingers, exist briefly when roses bloom in Marquis' greenhouse and a little piece of yesterday's cake is smuggled into your pocket.

You understand why he's wary. Grandfather's right: with longing comes bitterness. But you're careful not to overdo it. There's only one stolen minute of appreciation each day, not more, so you remember who you are — someone meant to be seen rarely and unnoticed most of the time — and return behind the apron.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Spring goes on.

Daylight stretches a little longer. Ground gets a little warmer. Marquis Nicolae often spends time in his private study after breakfast, then at noon — in the greenhouse. He strolls there among the greenery or sits by one of the tables with a book. Reading seems to be an activity he favors, and unlike some other gentlemen who grow tired within pages Marquis can stay completely still for hours without once getting restless.

You know because you watch him from the corner of your eye.

What kind of books he likes to read if they manage to keep him entertained for such lengthy periods, what titles do those leather spines hide, which stories are good enough for a gentleman like Marquis? He always seems so politely disinterested. You wonder if there are books that can make even him laugh.

Sometimes he asks you questions which startle you.

"Have you read 'The Castle of the Lady'? It's a novel."

You shake your head. "No m'lord. I can't read."

His eyebrows raise. Not in astonishment, Marquis Nicolae has a face of a man who rarely encounters surprises, his reactions are akin to mild interest bordering on curiosity, as if he enjoys discovering something new, something that doesn't fit into his existing assumptions.

"Can't?" he repeats.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, "No, m'lord. Never learnt."

"Who raised you?"

"My grandfather. He's a stableman... was. Now retired".

"I see," he returns to his book.

You fidget with a rag in your hands, why does he care to ask such question? What difference does it make whether you read or don't? It's not that uncommon. Most servants only know the basics, letters which form their names and the ones that stand for numbers. You don't really need the skill. What for?

"You may continue," he adds.

So you do.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Are you the only child?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"Your mother? Father?"

"My mother passed away giving birth to me, and father was a soldier, so he died in a war."

"What a shame," Marquis says, but it sounds like a comment on bad weather.

You're standing with fresh linens in his opulent bedchamber. It's spacious: tall windows and furniture made of rare wood. Old, like the walls of Albastru castle itself. A maid's life story is neither interesting nor important enough to pursue it, at least not in the place like this. Marquis Nicolae is bored, that's the most reasonable explanation to the current arrangement. He's looking for entertainment, but what entertainment can come at your expense, you're unsure.

Grandfather warned you not to draw too much attention, but it's not exactly your fault. Marquis' schedule is well known — he spends evenings in the salon and retires long past midnight. The chamber should've been empty. You should've been able to change his bedding, clean the fireplace and leave without as much as a sound.

Yet here he is, in a high armchair by the fireplace.

And here you are, in front of him, waiting for a dismissal that doesn't come.

On a small coffee table there're squares with simple pictures — a dog, a cat, an apple, made of thin wood with letters engraved in black ink. You step from one foot to the other, the lemon-scented sheets hide the way your fingers twitch.

Marquis traces a square with a rose.

"Sit down," he says and motions to the other chair.

"Your linens, m'lord-"

"They can wait."

No, they can't, you think. The bedding needs to be done, the fireplace cleaned, carpets swept, wilted flowers removed — there's so much to do to linger, and it's already getting late. If you're not able to finish on time-

But Marquis Nicolae didn't give you permission to leave.

You sit and put the linens on your lap.

Grandfather would say that Marquis enjoys the sight of your discomfort behind that courtly smile of his, but he doesn't look amused, he looks the usual. Calm and slightly disinterested. Sharp, despite being relaxed.

"If you figure out what letters stand from this," he points at the apple picture square, "to this one," then moves his finger to the picture with a goat, "you'll get a treat."

"M'lord?" you frown.

There must be something wrong with your hearing, but no, Marquis leans back and crosses his long legs. "A treat."

Treats are for children, treats are for dogs, treats are for horses who are obedient and look like jewels. You stare at him, puzzled, but try not to let it show; nobles have strange hobbies sometimes: races which cost thousands of gold coins for one bet alone, hunting dangerous animals, forcing their servants into duels to pass time. This must be one of those, an entertainment beyond your comprehension.

Still, time is moving forward and the complexity of your situation is becoming more apparent with every passing second; you've never felt particularly powerful — why would you? — but now you're acutely aware of how fragile one's position is when it depends on someone else's whims.

You take the first picture.

An apple. Letter A. Then a ball — B. Cat... So that's what they look like written down.

Marquis' eyes follow your fingers as they slide across the wooden squares, you feel his gaze like a touch, even though there's a coffee table distance between you and a bit more. You quietly mouth each word and letter by habit, unaware of this little detail. His eyebrows raise, this time with a hint of amusement which you don't see, too focused on your predicament.

Dog — D.

The clock is ticking.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Well?" Marquis asks later when shadows cross the room. The sun is gone, the fire in the fireplace burns lower but bright enough to illuminate the space. Sitting like this has given you a headache which makes thinking harder.

"I have them figured out m'lord", you say carefully.

"Tell me then."

"This is A," you slide the apple towards him across the table. It feels a little silly. "This is B."

The way you say them isn't quite accurate. It's "bee" instead of "b" and "dee" instead of "d", but he doesn't tell you that. Your voice goes quieter with each following letter, perhaps because you're nervous or maybe simply tired — who knows what time it is by now? Ah, quarter to ten. He watches you struggle with spelling and pronunciation until finally there they are. All squares from Apple to Goat, in order just like he arranged them.

"What about this one?" Nicolae points to the playing cat.

"It starts with 'K', m'lord."

You're quite sure, not that much variation is left after all, and say it with the most conviction you can muster so he would finally be satisfied and end this odd game. Your head hurts and stomach grumbles with hunger — there was no time for the lunchbreak today —both physical and mental exhaustion blur together.

Grandfather must be worried sick by now, he hates when you're late without telling anything beforehand.

Then Marquis covers his mouth, and for the first time since you entered Albastru castle, laughs.

Not chuckles. Not smiles without smiling. Laughs that his shoulders shake, that his eyes crinkle at the corners. You stare bewildered, not knowing what to do. Laugh yourself? Smile politely? Say "m'lord" again?

Marquis' laughter dies down eventually and he collects himself, straightening his waistcoat which doesn't require any adjusting in the first place, he's perfect as always.

"No, that's C."

Your cheeks flush red, how were you supposed to know? It would seem that a gentleman such as Marquis Nicolae should know better than mocking someone's lack of education, but apparently he finds it amusing. You lower your gaze and look away.

"How are you called?" he asks.

After a pause your name rolls off your tongue; small in his bedchamber, it barely leaves an echo.

"Well, I said a treat, didn't I?"

You don't want any treats, or to spend here even a minute longer; Marquis rises and walks towards his desk.

"Come here."

Reluctantly you stand up and follow him. The linens are left on the chair in a crumpled pile, they need ironing now. There's nothing to do other than obeying so you stop next to him where he opens one of the drawers. Inside you can see something wrapped in white paper with a thin ribbon bow around it. He takes the item out and pulls the ribbon off. Delicate scent fills the air, the little cakes, you know their name from the cook ─ macarons ─ bloom inside the wrapping.

Marquis Nicolae picks one up with two fingers and brings it to your lips.

The macarons smell sweet like almonds and look beautiful like roses in his greenhouse. They're not for maids, you think, no, this is...he shouldn't be doing that.

Your mouth waters anyway.

His eyes don't leave your face, "Do you want it or not?"

You do.

"Then take a bite."

The dessert melts in your mouth instantly. Its texture is soft, like petals, like everything else luxurious you've never had but imagined countless times. A little chewy, a bit crunchy, it's the most delicious thing you've tried, better than a piece of cake taken from the kitchen pantry, better than honeyed walnut bread.

"Another one?"

Marquis Nicolae feeds you two more, before you realize what exactly is happening — a bite by a small bite your dignity dissolves into his hand. You swallow the last morsel and quickly step back; you've forgotten yourself, forgot who you were and where, and now there's sweetness lingering on your tongue, while Marquise' fingertips smell faintly of apricot.

What have you done?

He looks amused again.

"Thank you, m'lord," you curtsy, then turn around to gather the discarded sheets.

"Clean the fireplace and change the linens. Then you might be free."

"Yes, m'lord."

It's a dismissal at last.

Marquis sits down and reaches for a book — he's done with you it seems — so you hurry to complete the assigned tasks. The fireplace isn't too dirty fortunately, just some ashes and coal leftovers. Next, the sheets, then the flowers.

Before you close the door and rush down the empty hall he speaks again, "If you still remember them all by tomorrow evening, you'll have another treat."

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #original character #original work #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader

95 notes · View notes

magellanicclouds · 5 months

Text

Halo - An Essay: regarding waste management systems and devices for MJOLNIR armoured Spartans It has been a hectic sort of few weeks. Between work and getting sick again (for the fourth time already this year thanks to my crewmates who can't remember it's their duty to stay home when they're ill) I've been on the outs. I haven't had the energy for much, but I'm usually a pretty active person, so this has kind of made me loopy? Which feels like as good a time as any to talk at length about the concept of catheterizing Spartans for waste management in MJOLNIR.

Let me explain.

This Silly Post crossed my dash recently and I fully understand it is meant as lighthearted fun - we have fun here. But it also dragged out some strong thoughts I've had haunting in the back of my mind about this for years because I'm super normal about Halo, and have time on my hands and the right amount of sleep deprivation and medication on board. So I wrote 3500 words about it. And about Karen Traviss, who is pretty knotted up in this conversation, since she's the one who decided to start it back in 2011.

To preface, I'm not an expert, but I have worked in emergency medicine for 25 years, and been a fan of Halo for almost as long. I've had more of a lukewarm relationship with it the last decade or so if I'm being honest, but it will always have a home in my heart; I just think letting it under my skin like that in the first place may have made me feral and prone to biting. Thankfully, I can always happily rotate Fred in my mind until the heat-death of the universe, so that's nice. Anyway, full disclosure: the essay below contains discussion about medical devices, physical trauma, and I am sharing quite a lot of personal negativity about the Kilo-5 trilogy and Karen Traviss. That said, if you'd like to sit in on the length of what I'm about to yell into the sky about all this, you can find it under the cut. I love you.

Welcome to my dissertation.

Section 1 - The Relevant Background:

Equipping Spartans with urinary catheters weeded itself into the Halo universe in the 2011 book Halo: Glasslands, during a conversation between Spartan II Naomi-010 and ODST Mal Geffen. Glasslands was the first in Karen Traviss's Kilo-5 trilogy, and she is both the originator of this, and the only official Halo author or source to have used catheters specifically since. Some context: I don't personally like these books, or their author, or even her reasoning for why she chose to add this. My personal preference doesn't make something 'bad', and I'm not out to hurt any feelings. Kilo-5 isn't a total wash for me, there are some characters and ideas that I'd of otherwise loved to have seen explored through the lens of a different author, but these books felt smothered under Traviss's habit of always injecting her very loud personal voice into the narrative fabric. I think this is something that's fine to do in an original series, but doesn't really belong in an established third party IP. She bangs on about so much of her own narrow worldview and self-assured prejudices across the trilogy that still discussing them today creates division in the fandom, and sadly did a lot of lasting damage to a couple characters. But for the topic here, the dialogue that started all this cath chat came from Naomi-010, having idle conversation with Mal who asks her about bathroom breaks. “I’m catheterized. Another reason why that machine has to be so precisely calibrated. This suit plugs into me in a lot of places.” 'The Machine' she's referring to is a Brokkr assembly, which was introduced to the lore as a large mechanical armature used to get Spartans in and out of MJOLNIR. You can see them in action in cinematics from Halo 4 (+Spartan Ops) and 5.

One single mention, and it was big news. Traviss was naturally interviewed about it because of course she was - people can't help themselves but forget an entire novel and tunnel vision on 'but how pee pee?', and her answer has always irritated me. It's not in what she says, so much as what 'what she says' means in her voice. Traviss didn't answer it directly, but instead talked about how she likes to get into character's heads by addressing the mundane necessity of things that often go overlooked to expand a sense of familiarity with the character and their world. Sounds super reasonable, I know, but don't give her too much credit - that's not a quote. It's just me paraphrasing and honestly I was pretty generous in my wording. Probably because I agree! What bugs me about it, is if you've ever read literally any interview with her, or her personal musings about her writing process, you know there's a bit of an 'honesty' issue there. She's somebody who feels perfectly comfortable ignoring established character voices, traits, or histories to satisfy whatever roles she's reinvented for them, and too many others wind up as mouthpieces. How much are you really challenging yourself in finding characters' voices when most of them are just yours? And the part about familiarity with their world? I giggled a little. She doesn't care about their world, or their aesthetics, or their technology, or their medicine. Because she didn't care about Halo while writing these, and she's not vague about admitting that. It's a matter of pride for her to purposefully refuse to research those things, in the same way she disregarded Star Wars and Gears of War - she doesn't consider the effort to be a valuable part of her process. So instead she'll skim the foundation, gather some recognizable names, pick her targets, and trusts that her personal experiences combined with an outsider perspective will generate better content to seamlessly overwrite what existed. Cool, Karen. Annoying, but why bring all that up? We're here to talk about catheters, right? Well, the fandom for the most part begin and end their assessment of the dialogue at urinary catheters, but the whole quote implies so much more than that - "This suit plugs into me in a lot of places." We're not just dealing with a cath, but apparently with multiple additional external-to-invasive connections. Reader, this dialogue is a plinth to Traviss's bizarre refusal to research not only the franchises she's contracted to write in, but also just into the basic function and hazards of existing concepts that she wants to introduce, and all because she's convinced herself she's done learning about the world. Choosing to ignore the creative freedom of limitless potential in a future of technology that would be basically magic to us today, and instead degrade 529 years of advancement is certainly a take, but it's even more ridiculous to do it with a subject (The Spartan Programme) that is considered to be the peak of advancement in that future's setting. That's clownery, just like her alleged commitment to adjusting her perspective to suit a universe's world.

I want to close out this section with a question: Why is it that writers in the Halo space - both fan and official - cling so tightly to current-day modern concepts as if they'd still be perfectly relevant in 500+ years? Music, for example, apparently suffered a multi-century stagnation in lots of published and fanmade Halo media. Though my partner made a strong counterpoint about this to be fair: we still listen to music composed by Mozart. So there's an argument to be made there. Medicine though. There is way less latitude to embrace the classics there. It's been shown across several games, novels, and films to be sufficiently advanced well beyond anything we're currently capable of or even understand, so why undermine that and choose to drag it centuries backward? For clarity, I am not talking about what might be standard in the public or private sectors, nor the enduring things that'd be used by the public and military alike, like sterile dressings, syringes, supplemental oxygen equipment. Those are the Basics and they will be relevant to us indefinitely. But I'm talking about the UNSC. I'm talking about ONI R&D. I'm talking about Section Three. Retrograding tech and failing to address a necessity that applies to every living person in the Super Soldier Wizardry department makes my mouth flatten into a tight little line.

Section Two - Caths, and why this whole thing got written:

Indwelling urinary catheters, both urethral and suprapubic. There's a laundry list of problems here, but I've distilled it down to the three biggest when suggesting they'd have any safe practical application in Spartans: Care. Activity. Damage. There is unreasonable expectations of care and maintenance for caths with regards to people who can be on operations isolated for months at a time with no support of any kind and are often limited to carrying only what can be kept on their person. The level of extreme physical activity Spartans engage in on any perfectly normal day whether deployed or not is unfit for the stability and safety of a cath. And damage; obvious enough, but with this one I'll be taking a huge emphasis on concussive forces - explosions. Something Spartans are subjected to a lot. I'll be using the height of modern-day catheter quality as a baseline for this, since that's what Traviss felt was sufficient. Regarding Urethral vs Suprapubic, Traviss doesn't specify by name, but Naomi's comment in full reads to me that she's only catheterized temporarily while armoured, hence the assembly needing to be so finely calibrated. Foley caths are temporary urethral caths that would only supplement the urinary process while a person was armoured. Suprapubic caths however are surgically placed devices. They do need routine tube replacement to keep them clean, but unlike the Foley that just serves as an aide measure for an otherwise fully functioning bladder, suprapubic caths are usually placed in people with congenital bladder disfunction, or who've suffered injury or disease that left the bladder in poor health or failure. This type of access will always require a tube in place and this would be the exclusive method of urination - in or out of armour. My Big Three Concerns fit both types similarly, though there is some additional risks associated with urethral caths that I'll cover.

Care: Caring for an invasive cath is a not insignificant effort. They're prone to blockage, kinking, and bacterial growth. They're so frequently responsible for UTIs and kidney stones that these complications are just considered the Standard Fair for having a cath. Their need to be frequently replaced because of their penchant for bacterial growth is the kicker here - whole floral colonies sprout up in caths and can eek their way out into the body through compromised tissue and wreck havoc. They have no self-cleaning mechanism, and steadily deteriorate. Changing and replacing an indwelling cath is a procedure that requires additional supplies that'd have to be carried, and needs to be done in a practiced and clean setting; preferably medical. Granted, there are people who manage the removal and insertion of their own caths at home, but they still need to ensure a clean and safe environment while they do this. A Spartan could never be guaranteed that, nor would it even be wise to consider the vulnerability of removing so much armour to handle it. Modern day caths are recommended to be replaced every 30 days or so, with some models able to be in place for a few months at a time, but that's with constant daily care and cleaning; something that'd be unreasonable for a Spartan to maintain while entrenched who knows where for who knows how long, and without access to replacement medical supplies. Those endurance times between replacements are geared for the average public person who leads an average public life and care for their cath as directed and don't get into fist fights with Sangheili. Needless to say, the endurance time for the same device in a Spartan who leads a wildly different lifestyle probably cuts those times down to a third.

Activity: Modern day caths are designed to offer people the most utility and versatility possible. Both models are available for people who are bed-bound or have extremely limited mobility, as well as for those who are mobile, independent, and live out average lives. With regards to the latter, suprapubics are somewhat more common, if for no other reason than to reduce the Foley's higher risks of induction injury, but modern urethral caths also allow for regular movement and activity with a more reduced chance of becoming dislodged or damaged than they would have had a couple decades ago. But when I say regular activity, I mean going on a walk. Shopping for groceries. Doing basic house chores. Even light exercise and sexual activity can be managed with physician advisement and the appropriate precautions taken. Anytime a Spartan was fielded they'd have to be all the more overly-cautious about Movements Outside of Their Control during confrontations, maneuvers, ambush, environmental or vehicular incidents. Even when things go well there'd be too much risk involved. That said, traumatic decatheterizations happen more frequently than anyone would like, and I'm talking about regular old Joe Everybody. I respond to no less than a dozen of these incidents a year. Both types of catheter are held in place by a bulb balloon that's inflated from a port with around 10-30ccs of saline after the tube enters the bladder (30ccs would be more appropriate for better security of the line). Before removing a cath, the saline is removed to deflate the balloon and the tube is guided out - with a Foley cath, that means being guided out of the urethra. When a Foley cath is traumatically removed, the saline filled balloon - which is like five times wider in diameter than the average 6mm urethra - does a pretty devastating amount of damage on it's way out, penis or vagina; though a penile urethra has significantly more length to damage, and the penile meatus very typically is torn. These incidents run high risk of bladder hematoma as well, which requires urgent surgical intervention. The very worst traumatic decatheterizations I've responded to were all penile and had trauma to external tissue. Ever microwaved a hotdog a little too long?

Damage: How often are Spartans subjected to explosive and other concussive forces? Silly question - answer: a lot and often and unavoidable. And we know they still feel the powerful feedback. Despite shields and dampeners and a self-moderating gel layer, strong inertial forces are still felt through the suits. Across multiple novels we're given details about near misses and blasts, accelerated or uncontrolled falls, rattling their teeth, hampering their vision, hearing, or balance; they've been rendered unconscious and suffered internal injuries. The fact that most of these events don't flat out kill them is a credit to their armour and augmentations. For reference - when a person experiences explosive or concussive force from a distance enough to avoid separation of limbs, bisection, etc, the totality of their injuries can't and won't be seen externally. How they present on the outside is just the tippy tip of the iceburg - it's what's happened to them internally that you need to be concerned about. Cracked or fractured bones, torn musculature, arterial shearing, hollow organ rupture, cardiac and brain tissue bleed, to name some common ones, and this kind of trauma extends to all implanted devices as well. For example, rods and nails and other structural aids or replacements are much more resilient than your organic tissues, and can dislodge when tissues tear or rupture, damaging anything in their way like shrapnel. The fragile little balloon of a catheter will shatter when subjected to even relatively minor explosive force, so to even consider for a moment that this would be a viable piece of equipment for people intended to routinely be involved in explosive environments is beyond willful negligence. That there wouldn't be a better solution to the question of waste management - a necessity for literally all human people who make up the entirety of the Spartan branch, with the infinite funding of ONI R&D seems so stupid to me that I… well, that I wrote this. Because, friends - participating in active warfare is not cath-safe. The kinds of physical demands and forces on Spartan bodies are not cath-safe. The risks will never outweigh the benefits to this. Even while sealed in powered armour and a skinsuit tech layer, the very thought of Section Three engineers or Halsey or anyone involved in the development of MJOLNIR dismissing the glaring obvious failure of Spartans having any kind of externalized invasive devices is so unreasonably negligent that it could only be the brainchild of an author who's convinced that these characters are all actually just psuedo-intelligent government boogiemen who aren't as capable as they claim to be. But No. They are that capable, and they are that intelligent and the fact that they have a bottomless budget and deeply flexible ethics is literally what makes them so dangerous.

So if we have to address this, how do we do it? Apparently there was always an official answer for this. Former Franchise Development Director, creator of the Master Chief**, and extremely racist asshole Frank O'Connor weighed in on this in the same interview, where he almost immediate rejected and denied Traviss's catheterization claim and says that 'this sort of stuff' was the kind of thing he and the other creative heads at Bungie/343i talked and planned about all the time. So how does this work then, because we're invested now. According to 'ol Frankie's elegant input: they just pee freely into the suit. That's it. For clarity, he's talking about the skinsuit and not the MJOLNIR interior proper. He goes on to say that connectivity between body and MJOLNIR at all levels is fully noninvasive, but precise, and that it doesn't matter what kind of body output a Spartan introduces into the suit interior, because a hygienic valve system (??) will scrub it continually and collect all matter for recycling and reintroduction via capillary action powered by movement. It's not clear in what layers or intermediaries these mechanisms occupy, he doesn't break it down more than that. But that's the answer, and it did exist back when Traviss was penning Kilo-5.

Is this answer better than haphazardly plugging extension cords from actual organ systems into MJOLNIR interior? Yes. Like, leagues better by comparison, but also I still think it sucks. To me anyway. It's flat out gross as hell, which definitely fits the personal brand of a man who proudly overfed his cat and called himself "Stinkles", but also it just doesn't strike me as the kind of design strategy ONI would pursue for any of their assets. Beside it just being 100% torn from Dune's stillsuits, it's also missing that special brand of proprietary Section Three je ne sais quoi. There's layers upon layers of too-specialized equipment installed into these people for everything else, why skip this? A body function that should have been Point 3 on a 50 point list of 'stuff to manage'. Also though? It's a lot of freedom. This is just another easy opportunity to add yet another layer of dependence. Spartans are expensive equipment. It doesn't do to give them any fewer reasons to think they can ever walk away.

So anyway, I figured I'd take a crack at it. I came up with this while editing the last two paragraphs: [Waste management] - a fully internalized collection and processing device - lets say a cybernetic implantation - that entirely replaces the bladder. It has bio-organic lumens that interconnect it to the GI and Hepatic organs. The implant assists in accelerating the processing of gathering and refining waste materials with the help of nanobots that identify and redirect waste along the lumens of each system, plus they keep the implant clean and free of bad flora. All twice-processed waste gets refined a lot quicker and any water by-product of the process is refined and redistributed back to the organs along the lumens. None of the refined water is removed from the body for drinking, because that's an unnecessary step; it's already inside. (Drinking water would be the responsibility of a suit system more likely - like, sweat leeching in the skinsuit; refine, filtrate, purify, collect into a reservoir, and jettison the excess sodium. ) There is no 'extraction of other viable nutrient' from the remainder, it's been twice identified as waste. It gets catabolized and consumed by the nanobots as a fuel source, and no externalized waste is created at all while the Spartan is geared up. The implant doesn't always run like this - it only engages this way when the Spartan is wearing MJOLNIR, and when they're not, it just works like an out-of-the-box bladder. The intermittence of usage lets the organic organs truck along as usual, preventing risk of atrophy, and the Spartan can just use a bathroom like everyone else. I'm not a bioengineer, but I do like sci fi and I think all that sounds like something that'd be possible in this sandbox. And that's the real fun of it, isn't it? There's no way anyone today can anticipate what sort of gadgetry might be available 500+ years from now, especially in a fictional universe that includes military tech hybridized with reverse engineered alien tech.

I think it's fascinating when writers and artists shake loose and really grab the reins, and I love seeing the fruit of that labour in this particular tumblr community so often. We're not a huge Halo circle, but we're a passionate one, and if this essay leaves you with nothing else, I hope it will at least remind you to Go For It when you're writing your next fic or drawing your next piece, or composing, or sewing, or printing, or anything!

In Conclusion: Rest easy, friends.

Despite Traviss's word and even books that went to print, the official canon is that Spartans are not catheterized. If that's a bummer for anyone, canon can't stop you from writing whatever you want, but I do hope maybe you'll remember my reasoning for why it might not be the best idea? At least not for armoured Spartans. A Spartan, but they're laid up in hospital? Any non-Spartan personnel? Maybe you're writing in the public sector, a colony world or vessel? Sure - I'll bet caths are still plenty widely used. Why not? They're a blissfully simple and useful effective piece of equipment. It's just all about adjusting and adapting for practicality. Medical science, like any technology, adapts and evolves infinitely as we learn and discover new things. Treatments or drug algorithms I'd of used just last year have already undergone changes, and protocols are amended constantly. It's why a person 'practices' medicine; why a scientist is always a student. If questions like this or similar really need answering in your next work, remember: Give yourself the credit you deserve, and embrace the spirit of invention. Let my Cyber Bladder, by Sparklets be the candle in the window for you!

You may all retrieve your keys from the bowl and unsilence your phones. Stay safe and please text me when you get home. Thank you. ' u ' **Addendum: Former Bungie Creative Art Director Marcus Lehto is in fact the person who is most associated with the creation of the Master Chief.**

#halo #long form #my writing

69 notes · View notes

wolfmoonmusic · 2 years

Note

hello again on the same day~~i have a valentine's day request!!

I can't decide who i prefer more, so please - pick one of the characters: moon knight (steven grant maybe) or young sirius black. i would love a surprise!!

i'd love to read an angst/fluff with this powerful question: who hurt you?

thank you, bestie!!<33

Worries

Summary: Steven shows up at your doorstep drunk and bruised after Marc gets into a messy situation.

A/N: I can’t tell you how much I LOVED this request. I tweaked it a bit 'cause I couldn't get it out before Valentine's.

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector x reader, Jake Lockley x reader (if you squint) , established relationship

Warnings: Mentions of getting drunk, Bruises and cuts, mentions of blood, DID, mentions of character death

w/c: 3500+

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3

Steven woke up with a terrible headache, and stiff limbs. He groaned, holding the back of his head as he got up, eyes scanning his surroundings. The sun was starting to set. There were buildings on both his sides, a dumpster behind him. There was a door on his left, the sign above a flashing red.

“For fuck’s sake.”

It was a bar.

They were in an alleyway.

And Steven couldn’t remember even glimpses of what happened. That was not good. He struggled to stand up, the movement causing his head to spin, as he stumbled over to the wall, holding it for support. Only then, did he register the stinging pain on different parts of his body. His torso, his knuckles, his left eye, his right cheekbone. His eyes scanned the alleyway, he needed a mirror.

“Down here.”

Steven looked down, finding Jake staring back at him through broken pieces of glass. “Do you know?” he asked, his voice breaking, still trying to steady himself.

Jake shook his head, “Nothing at all.”

Steven nodded. One thing was for sure. Marc had gotten drunk. Maybe got into a fight as well.

“Steven. We have to get home.”

“Yeah I - fuck - I know Jake,” he responded. He didn’t know where they were in the first place. He started stumbling towards the street, supporting himself with the wall.

His head was pounding.

He didn’t know how to ask for directions without getting weird looks, or worse, having the police called on him. He checked his pockets, thankfully finding his phone. He took it out, debating on whether he should call you or not. Calling would get him an easy way home, but it would worry you too much.

He fumbled with the phone, realizing that it had a big crack on it.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Jake said from the phone screen.

Steven shook his head, “Something must have triggered it,” he mumbled, turning on the phone.

It was working. 25 missed calls. Over 50 messages. All from you. Asking - begging for any of them to respond. Steven felt terrible, but he didn’t want to call you. He should speak to you, in person.

He turned on the location, opening his maps app, punching in your address.

“Fuck you, Marc.”

He had a long way to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steven was exhausted by the time he reached the house. The pounding in his head had doubled, and he’d gotten a lot of suspicious looks from strangers.

Of course he did, who wouldn’t think a man with a black eye and bruised knuckles, walking on the streets of Chicago, right after sunset wasn’t a lunatic?

He didn’t know how long it’d been since Marc was home. All he remembers is eating ice cream with you last night. He’d gotten a brain freeze and Marc had taken over. That’s all he knows.

His knuckles burn as he knocks the door. He’s mad at Marc, but he’s worried about you.

The second you open the door, he feels his heart drop. You look tired, a frown plastered on your face, eyes puffy, and hair pulled up in a messy bun. You freeze when you see him, eyes scanning him. He hopes he doesn’t look as terrible as he feels.

“Oh my god, Steven,” you mutter.

You know. You always do.

You take his hand, gently pulling him inside. He tries not to fall on top of you, pushing against the wall for support. He notices how quiet the house is. It’s never this way, and he hates it.

You bend down, and before he knows it, you’re untying his shoes, tugging at the lace. He lets you. Only because he’s too tired to do it himself.

You pull his shoes off, throwing them aside before standing up again. You brush his curls to the side, lightly pressing your fingers to the right side of his face. “We should get you cleaned up,” you whisper. Steven nods slightly, too afraid to move his head too much. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, lightly pressing down at the front.

He knows you think he doesn’t notice.

He does.

It’s a habit you’d established. You used it whenever the three of them worried you about something. Or when they didn’t come home for a while. It was a way of making sure they were there.

That they were alive.

You pulled him into the downstairs bathroom, gently pushing down on his shoulders to make him sit on the closed toilet. Steven’s head is still throbbing, but the world is no longer spinning.

He needs to hear your voice. Hear you get mad at them. He hates how quiet you are.

You open the cupboard under the sink in front of Steven, pulling out the first-aid kit, and placing it on top.

Jake is staring at you from the mirror. He’s pissed, Steven can tell. But, Marc is nowhere to be seen.

You gently take Steven’s hand, wiping the dry blood off of his knuckles. Wisps of hair fall in front of your face, and he wonders how you manage to look so pretty even at a time like this.

“I - We’re sorry.” Steven mutters. He doesn’t know where Marc is, or what happened, but he apologizes for him anyway.

You look up briefly, tired eyes boring into his, before shaking you head, and going back to cleaning his wounds.

“Do you - do you know? What happened?” you ask.

Steven catches the way your voice breaks slightly, eyes watching you as you carefully wrap a bandage around his hand, moving on to clean the next one.

“No. No - I - we,” he says, looking at the way Jake is watching carefully, “ we were hoping you knew.”

You shake your head again, bun lightly flopping around as you do so. “No we - we went to bed, and - and everything was fine. But, I woke up and he wasn’t there and -” you don’t finish the sentence. You don’t need to, the drop of water that lands on Steven’s fingers is an explanation enough. He feels terrible, thinking about all the possible scenarios that would’ve run through your mind.

You stop what you’re doing, wiping away your tears, before looking back at him, eyes still a little watery. “Who’s we?” you ask.

He knows what you mean.

“Just Jake and I,” he whispers, looking into the mirror.

“I’m going to kill him.” Jake seethes. Steven knows he hates seeing you like this. He knows Marc would hate it too. It’s probably why he hasn’t shown up yet.

You nod slowly, focusing on Steven’s hand again. He tries to piece things together, despite how his head is still throbbing. If he’d gone to bed with you, that means that whatever had happened, happened at night. Which could only mean one thing.

“Nightmare,” he mutters, mostly to Jake, but you hear it too.

You're wrapping up his knuckles again as you nod, “Yeah, that’s - that’s what I thought too. But I wish he’d stayed and woken me up,” you finish what you’re doing, moving back to the first aid kit to get more supplies for the rest of his cuts.

“He does have a bit of an alcohol problem,” Steven says, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

You don’t laugh however, and Jake is scowling from the mirror.

“You really expected that to work?”

Steven shakes his head slightly. His mind is too foggy to be able to think straight, but he still wants to make you feel better. It’s what he does, that’s his role. To fix things, be normal.

But how the fuck is he supposed to do that with this terrible hangover?

He watches as you walk back over to him, a new set of supplies in hand, as you start fixing the cut on his cheekbone next.

He reaches for your hand, stopping you. Your (e/c) eyes lock with his, confusion evident in them, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “It’s not your fault that - that Marc left - y’know - the way he did,” he says, hoping - praying, that you don’t blame yourself.

You nod lightly, starting to pull away, but he tightens his grip. “Say it,” he says.

He knows he can’t comfort you, not in the state he’s in. But, he can make sure that you know how much you mean to them. To Marc. And that the way he reacted, had absolutely nothing to do with you.

“It’s not my fault. I know,” you respond, smiling softly. Steven nods, satisfied.

You tilt his head upwards, chin between your thumb and index finger. He watches your face as you clean up his wound. It’s almost as if he can see the swarming thoughts, your tongue poking out of your lips lightly as you try to focus.

You might just be the best thing that’s happened to the three of them. Marc had told you about their DID the moment he felt himself catching feelings. He’d hoped you would run away, thinking he was crazy.

But, you hadn’t.

You’d asked questions, figuring out boundaries. Things that you could and couldn’t do. You’d paid attention to the tiny details, to the point where you could just take one look, and you’d know who was fronting. You had snacks for each of them, always stocked up. You always said they were “3 individuals, one body,” and that’s exactly how you’d treated them.

“All done,” you said, gently smoothing out the band-aid you’d just placed. “We’ll get the eye checked out tomorrow with the doc,” you told him, cleaning up all the supplies, and then washing your hands.

Steven stares at the mirror, watching Jake pace back and forth. Marc’s absence seemed to be really pissing him off.

You’re back in front of Steven, eyes scanning him again. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

It does.

His head, and his torso. But he doesn’t want to tell you, already feeling extremely guilty, so he shakes his head, pulling you towards him. You wrap your hands around his head, fingers in his hair, as he wraps his around your waist. However, the angle isn’t right, causing the pain in his abdomen to double, and he flinches away, cursing.

You react immediately, dropping down to his level, face filled with worry. “What happened? Di - Did I do something wrong?” you ask. He shakes his head, hands clutching the bruise in his side. You notice, reaching for the hem of his shirt. You look up at him, and he realizes that you’re silently asking for permission. He nods briefly, before letting you pull off his shirt, placing it on the sink.

He hears you gasping before he sees the wound himself.

It’s patches of purplish-blue, spanned across the right side of his abdomen. Your fingers hover over them gently.

“Steven,” you say, not looking away from the bruises.

He hums in response, the effect of actually seeing the cause of his pain making it unbearable.

“Who hurt you?” you ask, voice cracking with the sheer amount of anger hidden in it.

It takes Steven everything in him to not flinch away at the sheer force of the question.

Because the bruises and wounds aren’t just the results of a fight. It started way before. Before the fights with Khonshu, before all of it.

Marc got drunk because of a nightmare. And the nightmare, Steven knows, is caused by someone from Marc’s childhood. Someone who was never supposed to inflict such pain on him. On anyone.

Steven doesn’t know how to respond, so he stays quiet, watching you quietly.

He hates that he doesn’t know what to do.

“Comfort her Steven! Tell her you’re okay!” Jake yells from the mirror.

But Steven shakes his head. He knows you’d rather hear the truth, and bear it for a while, than any of them hide their pain or go through it alone.

You sigh, shaking your head. “You go sit in the living room. I’ll get you an ice pack. Do you want any painkillers?” you ask, heading out of the bathroom.

“Yeah. And a proper hug once you get back would be good,” Steven says, slipping his shirt back on.

You laugh, and Steven is grinning. He likes the sound of your happiness, even if it is topped off with exhaustion.

“Right away love.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steven had settled down on the couch by the time you returned with a glass of water, a pill and an ice pack. He took the pill immediately, wanting to desperately get rid of the throbbing in his head. He could still handle the rest fairly well.

You place the ice pack next to him on the couch, holding your arms wide open. Steven lets out a small laugh, wincing as he gets up and literally falling into your arms.

He wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck, as your hands wrap around his neck, one landing in his hair playing with the curls.

He feels safe.

You always made them feel that way.

Wanted. Needed. Loved.

He breathes in your scent, nuzzling into your neck, grip tightening as he tries to get rid of the millimeters of space between you both.

He doesn’t know if the hug is too tight, or if you can breathe, because you don’t complain, only pulling him closer. It’s as if you know. You know that he feels terrible on days like these. When he’s the one who has to pick up the pieces, wake up with a hangover. He hates it. And you know.

And you always always remind him that it’s ok to ask for help. For a hug. For a distraction.

He pulls away after a good few minutes, when he feels more stable.

“You ok?” you ask, brushing the curls out of his face.

He nods, sitting down, grabbing the ice pack. “It’s not cold anymore,” he laughs. You grin, reaching out to take it from him, but he shakes his head,“It’s ok, just say with me yeah? That’s medicine in its own right.”

A small laugh slips past your lips as you settle down next to him, his arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you into his side as your head rests on his shoulder.

“You sure you don’t want to sleep?” you ask, reaching for the remote.

“No, missed an entire day with you. I want to make up for it,” he says, pressing his lips to your hair.

“Alright then Mr. Grant, what are we watching?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marc is trying really hard not to move. The shift had been smooth, and you hadn’t even realized, your gaze completely fixed to the TV. He wanted to keep it that way for a little longer, unsure if he’s ready to face your anger, or worse -

Your disappointment.

But as always, you seem to figure it out yourself, pausing the movie, and turning to sit with your legs crossed, facing him. “Hi,” you whispered, smiling softly.

Marc just stared at you in astonishment.

“How did you know?”

You shrugged, “I knew the second you fronted.”

He raises his eyebrows, and you giggle, “It’s your body language. Steven is more…relaxed,” you say.

He nods, looking at the TV screen. He wants you to yell at him. To tell him that he isn’t worthy of your love.

Because he always messes up.

But you don’t.

Of course, you don’t.

It’s why he loves you. Because you always give him time to explain. To think and to process.

He looks at you again, your eyes calm and waiting and so warm. It fills the empty chill inside of him, covering him from head to toe with the cozy feeling.

“I had a nightmare,” he mutters. You deserve an explanation, even if it’s the shittiest thing he could have done in that situation.

You nod, taking his hands in yours. You don’t ask him to continue, just quietly sitting there, your silence speaking volumes.

I’m here. I’m listening.

And Marc’s eyes spill over with tears, the memories flooding his brain, as he tells you why he’d disappeared.

“Sh-She was there. And so was - so was Randall, an-and all the people I’ve killed, and -” his breath hitches, the last nightmare swimming in his thoughts. He can almost feel it all again.

Your lifeless eyes.

The blood on his hands. Your blood.

“I killed you,” he whispers, “I killed you just like everyone else, just like -”

He’s cut off as you engulf him in a hug, his face pressed against your shoulder. You run your hands up and down his back, “It’s ok, it’s ok baby. I’m here,” you whisper again and again. Marc believes it more every time you say it. Letting your voice guide him to reality.

“I woke up and I felt terrible,” he says against your shoulder. He pulls away, your hands still holding his forearms. He feels empty with the loss of contact, but he wants you to know that he knows he shouldn’t have run.

“I got drunk and then some dude started saying some shit,” he mutters, shaking his head, “Guess I was already too hammered ‘cause I don’t remember what it was. I just remember a fight”

You nod, thumbs stroking his arms gently. “But I should’ve seen the other guy huh?”

Marc chuckles, “Yeah, yeah you should’ve seen the other guy.”

You grin, bending over and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He wants to ask you why you do what you do. Wants to know why you’ve stayed, why you aren’t angry right now.

He also wants to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you’re shaking your head. “I do wish you’d woken me up or something, but I’m not mad. I was just worried.”

He can’t comprehend why you’re so understanding. So patient. It’s foreign to him, and he’s not sure how to react.

“Why are you still here?” he blurts out, the need to know has gotten too strong for him to keep it in any longer.

Confusion makes its way to your face, brows furrowed together, head tilted.

He thinks you look cute.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I don’t know why you haven't left me. I-I’m - We’re fucked up,” he says. There was no going back now.

Your arms slip from their position, holding his hands instead, “Because I love you. All 3 of you.”

“Yeah I-I know. But I mean, we’re not that special,” he laughs dryly. He hates himself for bringing this topic up. His eyes flicker to everything but you, afraid of what he might see.

“Marc,” you call, “Marc look at me,” you cup his face, as his eyes land on you, nothing but confidence etched onto them.

“I don’t see you for your past. When I look at you, I don’t see what you’ve been through. I don’t see your trauma. I see you. The man I fell in love with. I look at Steven and I see a goofy little idiot,” you pause, smiling softly, “I see Jake and I see someone who flirts so much that I feel like my heart won’t stay in my chest,” you pause again, laughing lightly and Marc is extremely grateful that there aren’t any mirrors in this room. He doesn’t want to hear their boasting.

“And Marc when I look at you, I see your strength. Your ability to stand up again no matter what happens? I fucking love it. I love how much you care about people. About Steven, and Jake.” You run your thumb across his cheekbone, and Marc has to use all of his energy to keep himself from crying again. “You deserve so much love. I know that you don’t believe it. But I will be there to remind you. Again and again. As long as it takes, because you’re mine and I’m never gonna let you go.”

Marc can’t digest it all. It’s too much kindness. He’s never been given anything in life and it feels like you’ve just dumped all of your love on him.

You guide his face forward, foreheads resting against each other.

“Even if it takes a really long time?” he whispers.

You nod. “I will remind you and shower you with love, until I no longer have a heart to love with.”

Marc smiles, and it feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest.

It’s new, this feeling, but he’s loving it.

“And I love your eyes. And your smile. And your curls. I love everything about you,” you whisper.

He pulls away slightly, an eyebrow raised, “Everything?”

Red creeps up to your cheeks, “I was trying to have a moment here you asshole!” you say swatting his arm, a smile tugging at your lips.

Marc laughs, the feeling rising from his chest and filling him completely.

He pulls you towards him, “I love you too,” he mutters, before connecting your lips.

And he means every ounce of it.

Just like you’d said, you were his, and he was never gonna let you go. Ever.

528 notes · View notes

shuttershocky · 9 days

Note

do u have any tips for understanding what the hell is going on in deadlock's shop or have any posts/videos u can direct me to?

Sure thing, let's talk about items in Deadlock!

So items in the shop are divided into three categories: Weapon, Vitality, and Spirit . Weapon items increase your weapon damage (duh), Vitality items increase your health, and Spirit items increase your Spirit power.

But by how much? All items in their respective categories are arranged from Tier 1 to Tier 4, where Tier 1 items are cheapest (base price of 500 souls) but give the least amount of stats, while Tier 4 items are the most expensive (base price of 6,300 souls) but give the most amount of stats. T1 Spirit items for example, all give +4 Spirit power when equipped, while T4 Spirit items all give +16 Spirit power when equipped.

I say base price, because some smaller items are components of other, bigger items, so the bigger items can get more expensive (because you gotta buy the smaller ones first). For example, Extra Spirit is a T1 Purple item that costs 500 souls. Improved Spirit is a T3 item ( base price 3000 Souls) that needs Extra Spirit, therefore its real price is 3500 souls. Finally, Boundless Spirit is a T4 item that needs Improved Spirit first, therefore instead of 6300 souls, its final price is 6300 + 3500 = 9800 souls.

Apart from their base stats determined by their price, different items can also give different bonus stats. To justify its gigantic price, Boundless Spirit gives you an extra +60 Spirit power on top of the base +16 that being a T4 item gives it (yes that is huge). Boundless also gives you a bonus +300 HP, +2 m/s movespeed, +15 HP regen, and a bonus 25% weapon damage.

One last thing about items: they can have either a passive effect, or an active effect. For example, the T3 Weapon item called Sharpshooter has a passive effect that boosts your weapon damage by 70% if you hit an enemy from long range. It still gives you the increased weapon damage from being a T3 weapon item, that extra 70% is just free if you fulfill its condition! On the other hand, another T3 Weapon item is Warpstone, which has an active effect. If you activate Warpstone, you instantly teleport forward a few meters while gaining Bullet Resistance, good for escaping or dodging in fights! Beware about buying too many items with actives though, you only have 4 item hotkeys and can't fit any more!

For that matter, can you just equip whatever you want? No! Each player starts with 4 orange slots, 4 green slots, and 4 purple slots, making this the maximum amount of weapon, vitality, and spirit items you can hold respectively. There are however, 4 flex slots you can unlock over the course of the game by taking objectives. These 4 extra flex slots can fit ANY kind of color you want, so they're pretty vital to expanding the possibilities of your build. Therefore, if you don't play the objective and just go for kills all day, you're limiting your own strength!

Since you only have a limited number of items slots to equip items with and have to earn your Souls, Deadlock challenges you to evolve your build throughout the game as efficiently as you can manage.

For example, if you're basing your build around Weapon damage, you would just focus on buying 4 orange slots and then 4 more when you unlock your flex slots right? Not always! Remember Boundless Spirit and how it gives a bonus +25% Weapon damage despite being a Spirit item? That means you can boost your weapon damage using an item that fits in a purple slot, which means more Weapon damage that initially seemed possible with your limited slots!

Therefore, the minigame Deadlock asks you to play is creating a build that is both affordable (you have to earn those Souls yourself!), efficient, and actually synergizes with your character's skillset over the course of the game. There are many limits placed on you so you can't go hog wild and buy 16 orange items on Wraith, you're going to have to get creative!

All this may seem overwhelming at first, but these rules and limits are there to guide you, not hinder you. Imagine if items were not divided into three types based on what they gave you and just sat there bunched up together with varying prices that could range from as low as 50 to as high as 6500+ without any order and you had complete freedom with your item slots and could even buy multiple of the same item—learning what the hell to buy and what each item even does and what you need would be ridiculous. I would know, because that's how Dota 2 is played!

That should be everything about items and the shop, but let me know if there's anything specific that I missed!

#Deadlock

16 notes · View notes

curseofaphrodite · 3 months

Text

COMMISSIONS | OPEN

- can do sfw as well as nsfw. darker themes are okay as long as there's no p*dophilic content.

some highlights

affordable! I guarantee not only would you be spending your money well, but you'd also be spending the least of it.

sky's the limit! you can request any characteristics, traits, plots, pacing and all characters are open for commissions.

you can do reader inserts or ocs, I don't mind. Though I personally recommend the ones with "you" povs, I can also do 1st or third person perspectives.

if you're not into heavy descriptions, you can mention that too.

everyone who does commissions from me will be automatically added to the lucky draws for my future celebrations, which will include free commissions and many more surprises!

works I do for you are yours alone. It'll only be posted on my account if you don't mind others seeing it. Else, I'd be sharing in a google doc.

if you're interested so far, check below to see the rules and payment!

RULES

This isn't really a rule but it's better if you have read some fics of mine already. This way, you can better understand my writing style. I can do any and all specific requests, but my writing style is my own and I won't change it :)

I take a week to get the fic done.

Remember to add all the useful specifics in your request! If you just want a fluffy fluffy fic, mention that. If you want sexual tension with no smut, mention that. If you want an angsty fic to cry your eyes out to, mention that.

Describe yourself or the oc with as many traits as you can! The more, the better I can write the characters.

Contact me through tumblr dms for commissions.

PAYMENT

Half the payment must be done after I've accepted your request. The other half can be given after I inform you about the completion of the work. Once the second payment is done, you'll immediately be sent the fic. You can pay through PayPal! (If you don't have Paypal, just let me know!)

I know all readers are not from US, so please convert the amount to your currency. I also know the converted price is too high for some countries, in which case, tell me your currency and I'll suggest modified, more affordable prices!

blurbs; less than 500 words - 15 USD

1500- 2000 words - 30 USD

2500-3500 words - 35 USD

4000 words - 40 USD

#astoria writes #commissions open #please reblog xx #regulus black x reader #james potter x reader #bucky x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #sirius black x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #lily evans x reader #wanda x reader #smut #fluff

18 notes · View notes

muffinbeliever · 4 months

Text

My Gift to You

Luna gives Spencer a special bracelet.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OFC

Word Count: 664

Warnings: none really. mentions of sensory issues but nothing major

A/N: i was rewatching jus in bello and got an idea after dean gave everyone anti-possession necklaces. she's just a wee little drabble but i wrote this in 18 minutes and im not super proud of it but tbh im a little proud bc i havent written in so long don't ask me if they have feelings for each other here bc they definitely do but theyre still newly friends and we all know babygorl spencer isn't the type to rush into relationships especially with a student in a class he TAs for

Masterlist

Ninety-one days, thirteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes after their first meeting, she gave him a bracelet.

Normally, Spencer didn’t love jewelry— necklaces moved around too much throughout the day, most bracelet materials made him uncomfortable, and rings collect five hundred and four colonies of bacteria on average. He even avoids the feeling of bare wrist against his watch (over two thousand bacterial colonies) by placing the offending item over his long-sleeve whenever he can. But as he stared at the band presented before him with little symbols etched on beads and Luna’s doe eyes, he knew that he would wear this bracelet every day of his life, sensory issues be damned.

He gently took the accessory from her hands, his eyebrows furrowing as he felt the fabric threading each bead and its soft texture. Upon a closer look, he realized it was braided cotton intricately woven in a tight pattern— nothing like he had ever seen before.

“I, uh…I figured the cotton would be easier on your skin and wouldn’t bother you as much,” Luna finally said, breaking the thickening silence that was gradually building in his office. “The pattern is supposed to be a ‘spell of protection’…if you believe that kind of stuff…same with the symbols…” she trailed off with uncertainty when he didn’t acknowledge her comment.

He stared at the complicated pattern, knowing it must’ve taken her hours to braid with such precision. Each knot was exactly the same as the one before it and the one after. There were neither frayed ends nor rough seams. Even the beads were perfectly spaced apart— 1.2 inches, if he were to guess. Each bead had a different symbol that was carefully etched on by hand. One looked vaguely like a pentagram inside of a sun— a symbol that Luna had on one of her necklaces he had seen before— and another pentagram with strange runes in between each point. Another one seemed to have characters similar to those of the ancient Germanic alphabet. He wasn’t sure what these symbols meant and why she was giving this to him, but he was in awe of the time and effort that went into the unique gift.

“Spencer, if you don’t like it, y—”

“Like it?” He cut in, his voice soft and delicate. “Like it? Luna, I love it.”

He cleared his throat and when he spoke this time, his voice was stronger and more confident as he rattled off the knowledge that he did know.

“Actually, did you know that from 3500 BCE to 3100 BCE, the ancient Egyptians were known for their intricate braids? Upper-class men and women would wear elaborate braided styles bedazzled with beads, jewels, and gold thread. It was already tightly ingrained in their culture even before Cleopatra’s revolutionary braided styles. It was believed that braiding hair would bring good luck and—”

“Ward off evil spirits,” Luna finished for him.

“Yeah.” Spencer smiled softly. “This is incredible. I’ve never gotten a gift like this before. Thank you.”

Infinite starlight could never come close to Luna’s beaming smile, and his heart skipped a beat at her poorly stifled giggles as he attempted to put on the bracelet by himself. One look at his puppy eyes and Luna caved, mirth shining in her eyes as she offered her assistance.

“What do the symbols mean?” His innate curiosity and desire to acquire new knowledge never ceased to arise when the situation presented itself.

“I’ll tell you some day,” she replied simply. “Promise me you’ll always wear it? It’ll keep away the demons.”

Her tone was light and seemingly airy, but Spencer’s perceptive nature picked up on the worry and desperation that flashed in her eyes. As she finished fastening on the accessory, she fiddled with it as she waited for his response.

“I’ll never take it off,” he promised, his words laden with truth. She had given him a special piece of her. Who was he to ever deny it?

#criminatural #criminal minds #supernatural #criminal minds x supernatural #spencer reid x ofc #spencer reid x younger sister!winchester #spencer reid #younger sister!winchester #fluff #criminatural drabble #muffinbeliever

20 notes · View notes

bluemoonperegrine · 5 months

Text

Ted's on First - Part I

This is the first scene (~1200 words) of the long-awaited Waffle House fic. It's taking me forever to get this thing written, but I'd rather take the time to do it right.

Although this is set in the Bittersweet Symphony universe, you don't have to have read any of it to follow this.

UPDATE: The whole fic is here on ao3.

Rating: Gen Characters: Elsa Bloodstone/Jack Russell, Ted Sallis (Man-Thing), original characters Word Count (eventually): ~3500 Warnings: Canon-typical violence (eventually)

Ava knew the pair was trouble the moment the plate glass door swung open. A gust of humid, marsh-scented air preceded two fit thirty-somethings whose dress better suited a pop culture convention than southern Florida.

“Mornin’,” Ava called over the din of her washing dishes behind the counter and the mess of eggs and hash browns Tom had sizzling on the grill. Between the late hour and their location on the outskirts of the Miami metro area, the two of them could run the Waffle House.

A swarthy, clean-shaven man of Indian descent nodded acknowledgement as his eyes swept across the nearly empty diner. Dried mud spattered his dark boots and the bottom of his black duster. The fact that his long coat was buttoned closed despite the warm night air outside suggested he was packing. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses to cosplay Neo from The Matrix.

Ava glanced at Kendra, who perched on her usual stool at the far end of the counter. The big-boned woman with natural Black hair was watching the new arrivals as well. Kendra nodded, then returned her attention to the door.

Neo stepped aside to make way for his companion: a Black woman with her hair in cornrows. Her garb was similar to Neo’s with the exception of her medium-length leather coat. She also surveyed the nearly empty dining room, skipping over Kendra to linger on the customers sitting at the table on the right side of the door. Those two, an attractive older couple who’d been playing footsie under the table, wore motorcycle safety gear.

“Sit anywhere you’d like,” Ava told Neo and Trinity.

After giving her a cursory smile, the woman headed for the table on the left side of the door. Neo followed.

Ava dried her hands, pulled her order pad and pen from the pocket of her yellow apron, and strode around the end of the counter toward the older couple. Kendra smiled and said quietly in Creole “I’m watching” as Ava moved past her.

Despite his back being to her, the tanned, forty-something man with salt-and-pepper hair sat up straight as Ava approached. After frowning over his shoulder in Kendra’s direction, the handsome man gave Ava a friendly smile. His companion, a fair-skinned, dark-haired woman who was beautiful even with her brows knit together, continued studying the single-page menu.

Ava prompted, “Need another minute or two?”

“Mi vida?” the man asked his probable wife. Neither wore a wedding band.

The woman frowned harder at the menu. “Nearly,” she replied with a light British accent. “You go ahead.”

“Okay.” After glancing over his wife’s shoulder at Neo and Trinity sitting their table ten feet away, he turned to Ava and smiled. “The cheeseburger platter, please—”

Ava jotted it down. “Lettuce, tomato, pickle?”

“Yes, please,” he said with a Latino accent. “And a cup of coffee. It’s late, you know?”

The man’s smile had grown bigger somehow. Ava felt herself returning it as she admired his green irises and how the corners of his eyes crinkled—

The British woman pointedly cleared her throat. “I’m ready to order.”

“Right!” Ava blurted. She felt her face heat up as she met the woman’s displeased countenance. Her husband chuckled, as did Kendra from her spot at the end of the counter. ��What can…”

The Latino was looking over his shoulder again as if he’d heard Kendra. The notion was ridiculous, as was how something dark had seemed to move under the table. The couple was probably playing footsie.

After taking a breath to compose herself, Ava addressed the British woman. “What can I get you?”

“The steak hash brown bowl,” the woman said frostily, “with jalapeños—”

“Ahht!” the man mock scolded.

The woman heaved a sigh and leveled an impatient look on her husband. “Jack, I am not using that silly lingo.”

Jack’s face fell. “But you have to! It’s a rule.” He grinned at Ava. “Right?”

Ava gulped, wishing her customers were the usual ones who came in after the bars closed. Drunks she could handle. These two were weird and she still had to deal with Neo and Trinity. “Uh…”

The woman handed the menu to Ava as she shook her head at her husband. “You can,” she said, trying to withhold a grin. “You know what I like.”

Her husband’s smile became more of a leer, which made Ava blush and the woman chuckle. “Go on, and stop torturing the poor girl.”

Jack turned back to Ava with a polite smile. “She’ll have hers scattered, chunked, diced, peppered, and capped.” He grinned at his wife, who rolled her eyes as the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“And to drink?” Ava asked them both because she had no idea who’d reply at this point.

“Tea?” Jack asked his wife.

The woman gave Ava a skeptical look. “Is it orange pekoe?”

Ava yearned for drunk patrons who only wanted coffee. “I guess? It’s Lipton’s.”

“Coffee,” the woman sighed, “black.” She looked fondly at her husband. “Bring lots of cream for him.”

“Yes, please,” Jack said. In a stage whisper he added, “Don’t mind her. She’s hangry.”

“I am not hangry!” The woman’s mouth snapped shut. She blushed as her husband chuckled.

Ava willed herself to not react and risk provoking the not-hangry British woman. “Back in a minute with coffee,” she said and retreated, catching Kendra’s eye as she walked past. Her friend followed her behind the counter as she called the order to Tom, a ruddy white man who looked older than his fifty years.

Grateful for the clanks of metal utensils on the grill, Ava murmured to Kendra in Creole, “He can hear you.”

Kendra looked his way. “Seems that way,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t see me, though.”

Ava put two mugs on the counter and poured coffee, leaving room for cream in one of them. “Untrained?”

“Maybe,” Kendra replied. She didn’t seem concerned. “Jack seems harmless. But he is keeping an eye on the other two. His wife is too. She’s using the reflection in the window.”

Ava took longer than necessary putting coffee creamer cups in a bowl for the Latino. “This really isn’t a good night for things to get interesting.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kendra said, laying one hand on Ava’s shoulder. The touch had no weight, only a gentle coldness. “Don’t you worry.”

Ava nodded, grateful for her grandmother’s presence.

As she picked up the mugs with one hand and the bowl of creamer in the other, she looked at Neo and Trinity at their table on the far side of the counter. With only stars and headlights from I-75 traffic lighting the night sky, the floor-to-ceiling window behind the customers acted as a mirror. Kendra, who looked about thirty, wasn’t there, of course, but Ava’s reflection was. They both were tall, but Ava lankier. Her black hair was in a multitude of thin braids, the bunch of them gathered at the nape of her neck with an elastic hair band. Her black T-shirt, pants, and yellow apron and visor were nothing to write home about. College tuition and bills had to get paid somehow.

Trinity and Neo must have felt her eyes on them. They glanced at her simultaneously.

“Coffee?” Ava asked.

“Yeah,” Neo said with a neutral American accent. “That’d be good.” Trinity nodded agreement.

Ava returned it as she headed for her other customers. “Coming right up.”

--------------------------

For anyone who's read "Past Is Prologue," Kendra is the same Kendra in that fic. 😊

Also, I was lazy in the Bittersweet Symphony fics and made Elsa American. She's British here because it's more accessible for anyone who hasn't read that series, and easier to differentiate her from other female characters when writing from Ava's POV.

#werewolf by night #elsa bloodstone #jack russell #fan fiction #werewolf by night fanfiction #waffle house

24 notes · View notes

disappointing-my-kid · 1 year

Text

Bowser uses illusion magic to make Luigi see Mario die

This one is for you @xxno-thoughts-just-chaosxx i loved the fanart you did it was fantastic!!! Herez 3500 words as a thanks!

Ok im back after finishing the post and uhh it gets dark so tw character death ? Uhhhhhhhh sorry yall i told ya im bad at fluff also thanks @hyperfixatingonbowuigisohard <3 i hope you enjoy and thanks @wickfur and @nagichi-boop for helping me edit and proof reading this bad boi

Bowser had kidnapped the green one to try to weaken Marios advances in reaching his castle as quickly. So far it had been working, that or Mario didn’t care for his brother. He figured it wasn’t that. Mario probably hadn’t even found the note his minions left. Unlike how he kidnaps the princess this one had been more discreet. Greenie had just been at their home and all alone so his minions just quietly nabbed him. That was two days ago though. Finally on the 3rd day someone took notice and reports of the red nuance on his way started to trickle in. Though he wasn’t making much progress.

Which means Bowser spent two days with this annoying green bean in his dungeon. He was no fun at all either. Bowser had tried to mess with him a little but the man wasn’t having any of it. They both knew this was longer for Marios normal rescues but no matter how Bowser spun it Greenie still believed his brother would save him. It was a little admirable how much faith he had in his brother, if not very annoying also. The man just trusted his brother completely. Nothing Bowser tried could convince Greenie otherwise.

That is until Kamek told Bowser of a new magic he finally figured out. Illusion magic. With Mario steadily making his way to the castle so Bowser and Kamek wouldn’t have much time to test out how this magic works to use it on Mario. His brother was the perfect subject for such a test. He quickly called to have the prisoner called to his throne room while he and Kamek planned out what illusion they could try and make.

~~~~ POV switch

Luigi had been here, shackles on his hands for three days, he thinks. Hard to tell a day in the Badlands. But Bowser made that easy by telling him how long it had been. Not sure if he could trust Bowser’s word but it did feel like three days so he just assumed it had been. He hoped his brother was okay. Three days was a bit long for a rescue, though Luigi had expected it to take longer. He was no fool like Bowser seemed to think he was. Captured alone at night from his and his brothers home. No raging fires or sounding of alarms. A kidnapping more akin to his home world than the Mushroom Kingdom. Plus he knew why Mario would take long to notice. He was out taking one of his two day training trips. No one but Luigi and maybe the princess knew about them. And if Luigi was being honest, he knew it probably wasn’t actually for training. His bro needed some time to himself to process some things for a few days before they came to this world, so why would that change. So he knew right from the start Mario would take longer.

Even so, he did wish Mario would pick up the pace once he realized Luigi was missing. The cuffs on the shackles hurt as they dug into his wrists. They hadn’t given him anything since he arrived here. No food. No water. Nothing. He's lucky the cell has a sink in it or else the dehydration would have probably got him. One guard did take pity on his growling stomach the second day and gave him some sort of fruit. He had never seen it before so it must be native to the Badlands. He gratefully accepted, not caring if the fruit was good or not. He trusted that Bowser would want to finish him off himself and he trusted that his minions knew better than to kill him, less they wanted to suffer his wrath. Even if he did wish they would stop visiting to torment him. Still though, the fruit hardly kept his hunger at bay. To top it all off, his mind was having a field day with all the things that could go wrong. His insecurities run rampant. ‘He’s not coming’ his mind whispered. ‘It’s been days no one is coming’ another poured in. It was easier to tell Bowser he trusted his brother. Easier to show how confident he was in Mario saving him. But truly believing it was another thing all together. If Bowser noticed in their “chats” that Luigi was more trying to convince himself than Bowser, then Bowser didn’t show it. With how little Bowser actually looked at Luigi he figured Bowser didn’t notice. After all, Luigi never took Bowser for being horribly cruel. Anger issues sure, but Luigi had seen how Bowser looked at his children. And his brother had told him stories of Bowser helping him with a team up here and there. Plus when the man got frustrated with Luigi's faith in his brother he could tell Bowser was pulling his punches. Though to say they still didn’t hurt would be a lie. His body still aches from his last “chat.” Being thrown to the ground hurt a lot more when you hadn’t eaten much for nearly three days and when the ground was a stone prison floor instead of soft grass, but it really wasn’t helping the situation.

Though Luigi was pulled from rubbing his bruises and thoughts when he heard someone approaching his cell. Luigi had hoped it would be the same guard as before but the amount of footsteps told him that it wasn't. It was some koopas he hadn’t met yet. Some had visited him in his cell to taunt him during his stay. Taunt, tease, yell at, and even one threw a rock but these guards had been some that never visited in such events. No, one of these guards had a chain in its hand and another guard had some keys in theirs. “Great” Luigi sarcastically thought, as he figured its time for more rough handling. “The all Mighty King Koopa has requested your presence, pathetic prisoner.” the one with the keys spoke. Which was new. Clearly Bowser had no problems with coming down to the prison, so why the change to move Luigi? Before he could even ask anything the cell was unlocked and he was rushed. He wasn’t even going to resist but they still grabbed him and harshly pushed him to the wall. Was this amount of force needed? He was weak from lack of food and again not even fighting back. He winced, as he knew one koopas grip was gonna leave bruises. He soon realized something cold was put around his neck, it was clearly a bit too tight on him. And his arm restraints had been exchanged for wrist restraints. Now his hands are bound together by just cuffs. Once released he nearly dropped to the floor, he was able to steady himself for a moment. But then the chain that was attached to the metal collar on his throat was yanked, and he fell forward. “Get moving prisoner.” With a groan and another yank he was on his feet and being led through the castle.

After constantly being harshly yanked along they finally reached the throne room doors. Luigi hardly had time to take in how massive the doors had been before they slowly started to open. Not wanting to fall again Luigi tried his best to keep up with them as they started to bring him into the room. “The prisoner, your Majesty” the one holding his chain said, bowing, as he was once again yanked back to the ground despite his efforts. Slowly he lifted himself to get back to his feet but he froze once his gaze met Bowsers. The anger he sees there couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Luigi gulped down the lump forming in his throat. Maybe leaving the cell wasn't as much a good thing as he had hoped.

~~~~~POV SWITCH

Bowser called for the green prisoner to be brought to the throne room the moment he and Kamek had everything planned out and ready. He could hardly wait to see the Green Beans' faces after what they had for him. Though when he actually saw the state his prisoner was in, and he couldn't stop the anger building up in him. Since when had he given the order for torture? Sure he might have roughed the man up a bit himself, but those had been mostly by accident. His rage just got the better of him, but he didn't remember doing all this. Clearly someone was acting without orders and that alone made him ready to rampage in his own castle. He came back to his senses when Greenie was forced to the floor by his guard pulling on the chain attached to the other’s neck. Which clearly wasn't needed as the man hadn't even tried to resist. That just made Bowser more angry. Though, as he watched the plumber start to raise his head and their eyes met it was clear the other thought he was angry with him. It didn’t sit right with him but he wasn’t about to correct it either. All the better that Greenie is scared. Even if it wasn’t his intention, though he did intend to scare the green one out of his wits with this illusion. Quickly he regained his composure “Leave us.” Bowser demanded maybe a tad too harshly as he watched the prisoner flinch. “I have something to discuss with this prisoner.” A slight smirk graced his face as he again looked to the man in question, who started shrinking in on himself slightly as they once again made eye contact. No time to dwell on that. As the guards left Bowser got up and slowly made his way over to the man on the floor.

~~~ POV switch

Luigi sat on the floor as Bowser headed his way. He started to scramble backwards but was quickly stopped by a large foot stepping on the chain that was still attached to his neck, wincing at the movement. A truly wicked smirk was covering Bowser's face “going somewhere?” Bowser teased. Swallowing his fear, he stammered out “i-i um you know h-have places to be thi-things to do.” Bowser, of course, laughed harshly as he pulled his foot backwards, causing the chain to yank Luigi forwards onto his face. Slowly lifting himself onto his elbows he quickly froze as a clawed finger lifted his chin to meet Bowser's gaze. Time froze for Luigi as he saw nothing but sick mischief in Bowser's gaze. “Now now don’t be in such a rush.” As a large hand left his face and went to his neck to get a hold of the chain. Rising to his feet Bowser yanked Luigi up with him. “No no can't have you leaving so soon.” Bowser laughed as Luigi didn’t even notice the new weight added to the end of the chain. And if Luigi wasn’t concerned for his safety enough “I’ve got big plans for you Greenie, big plans indeed.” Those words filled him with dread.

Before Luigi could even begin to ask, the doors burst open. Both their heads snapping to attention in said direction. There stood Mario. “MARIO!” Luigi called out to his brother and started to move towards him but was pushed back by Bowser. “WHAT?!?? You shouldn’t be here yet!” Bowser roared, moving in front of Luigi into a fighting stance. Mario was also preparing for a fight, though he looked like he had already been in one. He had to of rushed right here after finding their home empty. He was probably tired. “You think you can kidnap my brother and get away with it!” Mario retorted. Then they both charged. Quickly Luigi got to his feet and tried to help his brother only to be stopped by the chain. Pulling with all his might he couldn’t get it to budge one bit. Turning back to the battle for a moment, just in time to see Bowser land a solid punch to his brother's stomach. Sending Mario tumbling across the floor. “NOOOO” Luigi yelled. Panic filling him as he yanked even harder on the chain. But it wouldn't budge an inch.A laugh boomed into the room as Bowser approached Mario’s form. Slowly Mario was trying to get up only to be met with a kick to the gut sending him rolling once again. Tears started to pour down Luigi's face as he watched in horror as his brother struggled to get to his hands on knees. A low chuckle filled the room that sent a chill over Luigi’s body.

Slowly Bowser stalked towards Mario. Towering over the man “Not so strong now are you?” As he reached down, much to Luigi's horror and picked his brother up by the throat. Mario thrashed in his grasp trying to escape. “STOP IT!” Luigi finally broke out of his trance and yelled. Of course Bowser now fully turned to face him, Mario in hand. “Or what Greenie? Hmm what are you gonna do to stop me?” Luigi's gaze met his brothers and he knew. He would do anything. “Anything! Whatever you want! I'll do it, just please!” His voice breaking as he begged “i’ll do anything please please just spare him.” A low hum resounded from Bowser as he made a show of pretending to think about it. A pit formed in Luigi's stomach as he spoke “As enticing of an offer that is, Greenie “ Luigi's eyes widened in horror as Bowser's grip tightened on his brother's throat. “I think I would rather be rid of this pest than have his useless brother.” The words hit him like a truck and stabbed him to his core as he stood frozen watching his brother's struggles stop and arms fall to his sides. Just above a whisper “n-no” Luigi in disbelief stared at his brother's unmoving form. Bowser laughed once again “Struggling with reality Greenie?” Tossing Mario’s lifeless body in his direction as if it was nothing. Luigi was unable to move as it rolled towards him. His eyes met his brother's lifeless ones. Standing there he stared. It's as if everything else disappears. Just him and his brother.

And then his legs gave out. He fell to his knees. Face twisting in horror. Denial coming into full swing “no.. no it.. m-mario get up. Please you” he his breath hitched “you have ta get up now.” His brothers form unmoving as he slowly tries to crawl over to it. But right before he could reach out and grasp his brother once again he was stopped by this chain. Mario was just out of reach to him in more ways than one. He sat there a moment before finally shouting, “Mario get up! COME ON!” All energy leaving him with the shout “please bro” he sobbed “p-please i i need you please d-don’t leave me all alone.” Tears falling onto the floor “you-you’re all i have please don’t go.” Once more he reached out for his brother's lifeless form. This time though something changed as the chain no longer held him back and slowly he reached out for his brother's shoulder only to have it to start to sparkle away. Slowly light lifted upwards as he watched his brother disappear. He numbly grasped at the pieces that disappeared between his fingers.

~~~~POV switch

Bowser stood motionless as the illusion started. Kamek told him how it worked. All he had to do was stand here and make sure Greenie didn't touch the magic. Once someone touched it then it would fade. So it was a real show for him too watching himself fight Mario. He was quite surprised as Green Beans strength when the man tried to pull the chain. But Bowser still had it securely stuck under his foot. The moment he turned Greenie around was when the magic started. And oh boy what magic it was. He nearly roared out in triumph watching himself win. But that would completely ruin the illusion, having his own roar come from somewhere else. What came next though. He didn't quite like and he struggled to figure out why. Even knowing himself it was an illusion the lifeless body made a chill run up his spine. But he froze upon watching his prisoner's reaction. Unable to react himself as the scene played out in front of him. Gut twisting. Then it hit him. Too far. He’s gone too far. Hearing the man beg for his brother to return to life to him really took Bowser off guard. He stepped back as the shock of the scene washed over him. The moment he did though the plumber finally was able to reach his false brother. The moment he did though the illusion started to fade. Which made something inside him clench as he watched the man reach up to try and grab a piece of his brother's fading form. Forget crossing a line he all but ran past the line and was still going.

He had to do something. Nervously he cleared his throat. “So uh What did you think of our new magic!” He tried to sound proud and confident but it was hard even for him. The plumber didn’t respond. Didn’t move as he just sat there staring upwards where his brother's body faded out at. “Uhhh Greenie?” Gently he reached forward to grasp the man's shoulder. No reaction at all. Turning him around and Bowser pulled his hand back and gasped. The man's face. Eyes just as empty as the false corpse. He didn’t even look at Bowser, or well anything. He just stared forward. Mouth slightly parted with tears still rolling down his face. Oh lord what was Bowser saying about crossing a line. “Hey uh Greenie it was fake! That uh… pathetic brother of yours is still on the way!” Bowser was way out of his depth here “fake?” A soft voice tore him out of his thoughts. Just above a whisper. “Yea totally cool illusion magic!… so um…” what was he to say? All he could focus on was the lifeless eyes. “I-illusion magic?” The man said back. This wasn’t working. “KAMEK!” He called out and quickly the old magikoopa flew down from where he was projecting the illusion. “Quickly! Go find Mario and bring him here. Maybe seeing his brothers annoying and totally full of life face will help.” Kamek didn’t question anything and at once set off. After all he watched the same illusion Bowser had and agreed fully on that they went too far.

Not knowing what to do Bowser did what he could. He gently removed Greenie restraints. Wincing as he saw the damage, though no such reaction came from the man himself. His wrists swollen and scratched but his neck. It was bleeding from either the force Luigi had put on the chain trying to reach his brother or from his own men yanking him around. Either one was horrible enough for Bowser to feel bad. Every so lightly he pulled the man's chin up again, just like before, forcing their hollow gaze to meet his. “Hey it's gonna be alright. Mario is ok. It's gonna be ok”. At that he pulled him into a hug as if he was one of his own children. He didn’t know what else to do. Gently stroking the man's hair and back. Anything he could think of to bring him comfort. Eventually he got a reaction. Though it wasn’t really the one he wanted. As the man began to full on sob into Bowser's embrace. Arms coming up to grasp anything for a life line. Softly he started “shhhh it's ok. It's gonna be ok. He’s ok. It wasn't real.” He did his best to keep reappearing that last line. Hoping it would sink in. Eventually the sobs died down and he could feel the man trembling. Slowly he pulled back and held Greenie by the arms. Looking him right in the eye “I’m sorry, I-I went too far. It wasn't supposed to- It was just- we didn’t think-” Bowser couldn’t figure out the words. Nothing he could say would make this any better. There was no excuse. No justification. Luckily he was saved by the doors bursting open for real. Mario is standing there just like before, but with Kamek floating behind him. Only this time his face wasn’t of rage or confidence. No, his face was full of worry as he spotted his brother. Kamek must have told him something. Greenie tensed upon seeing his brother. Bowser turned back to him “Go on. He's real” the man's breath hitched “and waiting for you.” At that last line he jumped up and all but smashed into his brother. Grasping for anything and everything. When nothing disappeared and he got a fist full of shirt, only then did he believe it to be real. Only watching them for a moment then turned to face Kamek who nodded in return, who quickly magically set another illusion into place. The only difference was that now the brothers had become alone. Neither wanted to fight the other so Mario helped his brother stand and even though he seemed mad about the injuries the other had he could tell now wasn’t the time. Slowly leading his brother out. Quietly Bowser ordered “Kamek follow them and make sure no one stops them on the way out.” And with that Bowser was left alone with his thoughts. And guilt.

#bowuigi #well bowuigi if you squint #bowigi #my writing #this took way to long #ughgughgu #was supposed to be like maybe 800 words #tw character death #tw major character death #sorta

96 notes · View notes

jcollinswrites · 1 month

Note

Interesting so far, i really liked what i read, especially since there is a lack of IFs playing in Ancient Egypt, tho i do have some questions.

1: Are you sure you mean 3500 years ago, because as far as my knowledge goes the official 1st Dynasty was from 3150-2900. Also you mentioned names of pharaohs that came way later. So i guess it is not following our real life timeline of Ancient Egypt? Also if i am wrong do correct me, i am not an expert on this subject.

2: Do you plan on releasing every background with one update for each, or in one big following update, since i guess that after signing the contract, the story will follow one line and the backgrounds will more be used as flavour text, or do i assume wrong?

3: How did you come up with a story playing in ancient egypt, since like i mentioned, there are few that do?

Anyways that's all, stay hydrated

Thank you for your message, I'm glad you like the story so far!

Since the current year is 2024, 3500 years ago means circa 1500 BC :) Historically, that would mean somewhere around the very beginning of the Egyptian New Kingdom. The setting here reflects that time period a bit, but like I mentioned in the description, this story is not historically accurate. The characters and the setting were inspired by real historical figures, but they are all fictional. The story will be completely fictional too.

You are right about the backgrounds! I will probably release a very early first draft of either the vizier's child or the priest backgrounds next. This means, most of the choices will be greyed out, but you'll be able to play through one single path from that specific background until the end of chapter 1. (this will make more sense once you see how the next update looks like lol)

This first chapter is going to be massive because of all the variations, but in the meantime, I'm also working on chapter 2, so at least the first few scenes of chapter 2 might come out in one of the next updates :) (no promises tho)

How did I come up with this? I was always fascinated by this time period, ever since I was a child. I wrote a few books already that are set in Ancient Egypt as a hobby (not public, most of them are shit, so don't ask). This one is the first I wrote in English, and the first I officially made public!

Thanks for the message, and sorry for the long answer lol

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #ancient egypt #timeline #historical accuracy #characters #setting

13 notes · View notes

lolaswips · 2 months

Text

I wrote this WIP while HS2 was still releasing, this was based on a theory I still have regarding Vicky/MC. Initially I thought I might add it as a part of my long Malbonte fic, but by the time I get to this point in the story I’ll be 100 at the rate I’m going.

I tried to tie it up as a one-shot but it’s pretty obvious there was meant to be more after this concludes. Maybe I’ll post that as a continuation someday.

This is a rewrite of the scene where MC (in this case, Antigone) tries to flee when on Earth with Leeloo and Dino.

Book: Heaven’s Secret 2

Female Main Character: Antigone Walker

Pairing: F!MC x Malbonte

Word Count: 3500

Rating: M (suicide, mentions of torture and cruelty)

Warnings: suicide attempt, mentions (brief and vague) of torture and starvation.

Tag: @rc-catalog

Antigone

Antigone knew she only had one chance to get away, one chance to be free of the literal chains she carried around her neck. She quickly glanced over to Leeloo and Dino who were still arguing a few metres away. They wouldn’t immediately notice her absence. It could be enough time to escape… In any event she had to try, she may not ever get another opportunity, if she didn’t try now she may never get to again.

She ran, hiding in a nearby alley with a direct view of the sky. Antigone looked up, ready to spread her wings when she felt his energy and a sense of dread filled her core.

Malbonte. How did he know?

He landed in front of her, the pavement cracking under his feet and his gaze murderous. Dino and Leeloo, feeling Malbonte’s overwhelming energy and noticing Antigone's absence ran to the entrance of the alley, stopping short under Malbonte’s angry stare.

”Where do you think you’re going?”

Malbonte’s tone was nothing like Antigone remembered how he used to speak to her. He was furious, and his palpable anger rolled off his energy in thick, overpowering waves.

”I just have to get out of here… I have to go…” Antigone mumbled nervously, her anxious gaze darting back and forth between Malbonte and the sky. She knew he was faster and even before she’d been stripped of his energy, far more powerful than she could ever dream of being but if she could just get past him, maybe…

“Do you think you can escape? Like a bug trying to slip between the fingers of the hand about to crush it?”

Malbonte’s voice was poison on Antigone’s already crushed heart as he interrupted her thoughts. Where was the man she loved for the last ten years? Where were the traces of Bont she knew so well in him? This was the first time since she met him that Antigone saw Malbonte the same way everyone else did, heartless, cold… a monster.

”I’m trying to do something! Am I supposed to just kneel like the rest of you pathetic cowards?!" Antigone‘s voice was shrill and defeated. ”I won’t be Lucifer’s pet! The last time I spoke to him, I was breaking his heart to leave him for you. He hates me.“

Antigone paused and looked at Malbonte for a moment, studying him.

“And you’re just going to let him keep me on a leash? Is that all I am to you? A dog who has to be obedient? After everything we’ve been through, that’s how you think of me?”

Malbonte’s eyes flashed with a fury Antigone had never seen directed at herself before and she knew in that moment that the man she loved was gone. Or perhaps he never existed in the first place. Antigone swallowed the lump beginning to form in her throat.

"Shut up, or you'll get a muzzle to go with your leash."

Antigone couldn't hide the horror in her features at his angry words and Malbonte seized on the moment to approach her quickly.

”We’re going back.”

Malbonte grabbed Antigone’s arm roughly as he spoke, pulling her toward himself. He was surprised when, with the very little strength she had left, Antigone shoved him angrily.

”Over my dead body.”

Malbonte scowled at her and stepped toward her menacingly.

”That can be arranged.”

Antigone felt the last of her hope shatter with every word he just uttered. She looked at him with all the contempt she could muster and stepped back, her eyes blazing with challenge.

“Then do it. I won’t let you take me back there Malbonte. I will make you kill me before I ever have to look at Plague's face again.”

Antigone found herself grateful when Malbonte lazily waved his hand, putting up a protective shield around them as though he were preparing for a real fight. They both knew it was pointless, that with a simple gesture Malbonte could destroy her and not even break a sweat but him offering her the decency of pretending she was a valid opponent was enough to feel grateful, as pathetic as her gratitude made her feel.

When Malbonte sent a wave of dark energy at her, Antigone ducked, letting his power crash into the protective bubble behind her with a loud thud. Antigone could hear Dino from beyond the wall, pleading with Malbonte to let him take her back to the Academy safely but his yells went ignored. Malbonte stepped toward Antigone, never taking his eyes off hers as he spoke.

"There can be no other power in you but mine. You were born as a vessel for the darkness that runs in my veins, but you were deprived of that. From now on, you shouldn't hope to find any other power within yourself. What do you hope to accomplish here, Antigone?"

Antigone scowled at her former lover angrily, ignoring his question she replied.

"Do you know what humans see as real power? Willpower, strength, resilience, and belief in a person, even when he tries time and time again to show me it isn't worth it!"

Malbonte didn’t stop, he didn’t hesitate as he stepped toward her to grab her. Antigone knew he knew she had no power so he wouldn’t have to defend himself. He clearly didn’t expect her next act though.

Antigone, noticing a rusty old knife lying on the ground in the alley just a couple steps away from herself picked it up off the ground and threw it at Malbonte as hard as she could. It landed exactly where she expected, with a dull thud in his shoulder. He glanced at it lazily before grabbing her again, not even bothering to remove the knife.

That would turn out to be a fatal mistake.

Antigone steeled herself. She had a plan, but worst case scenario non-existence was better than anything waiting for her at the Academy. That's why she pulled the knife from Malbonte's shoulder when he pulled her against him again and plunged it deep into her own heart. Malbonte, still holding her arm, moved to hold her in his arms not hiding the shock on his face.

"Anything is better than going back there. I love you, even now."

Antigone barely recognized the sound of her own voice as she muttered her final words to Malbonte.

She felt Malbonte freeze momentarily before he pulled the knife from her in a quick motion. She heard Dino and Leeloo cry out in surprise as she started to slip into blissful oblivion. The last thing she saw before her eyes fell closed was the face of her love, for the first time in months displaying something other than cold indifference. His fear, his regret, his hurt. Malbonte put his hand on her chest and let out a stream of dark energy, and then... there was nothing but darkness. No more pain, no more heartache, just… nothing.

Lucifer

Lucifer was with Plague when Dino and Leeloo returned from the mission, notably without Antigone. He was about to ask where she was when Plague beat him to it.

"Dino, my boy, whatever has got you feeling so... deliciously anguished?" Plague lilted at the angel as he arrived, feasting on his energy as it powered her. Dino didn't answer, instead making eye contact with Lucifer.

"Antigone tried to flee. Malbonte... killed her.”

Leeloo answered for Dino, her tone lifeless as she spoke.

Lucifer staggered, catching himself in time before he fell to his knees. He couldn't have heard Leeloo right. Malbonte was an asshole, a monster, cruel and ruthless, but Antigone had always been the exception to that. He must have misheard the angel, he had to of. There was no way Malbonte would have done such a thing, not after…

"What?!" Plague spit the word in angry surprise, interrupting Lucifer’s thoughts before composing herself and shaking her head. Lucifer watched as the Horsewoman approached Dino and grabbed his chin to enter his subconscious. Lucifer clenched his jaw as he watched Plague’s face morph into a relaxed smile, clearly getting something out of Dino she was seeking while Dino’s eyes flooded with unshed tears.

No! No, no, no, no, no.

It didn’t make any sense. Just the day before Malbonte had told Lucifer to volunteer to take Antigone when the Unclaimed were being auctioned off as slaves; an unspoken agreement between the two that Lucifer would ensure Antigone would remain as unharmed as she could be considering their circumstance. Why would he turn around and kill her the next day? What could she have possibly done to change Malbonte’s attitude toward her so quickly? Antigone was defenceless against anyone let alone Malbonte, so it wouldn’t have been self defence. Leeloo and Dino had to be mistaken, they just had to.

"What a shame, she was so much fun. But I guess now you know what happens when you don't follow the rules."

Plague’s voice grated on his nerves as she interrupted Lucifer’s train of thought once again, draining any of the remaining hope he had from his heart as she confirmed what Dino had seen earlier that day from his memories. As strong as he was, Dino wasn’t able to manipulate his memories and hide the truth from Plague, which could only mean one thing.

Antigone really was dead.

Lucifer steeled himself. When the time came, he would personally kill Malbonte and take great pleasure in it. He let his heart fill with anger and hatred, determined to let him fuel him until the time was right and he could avenge her.

Malbonte

He hadn't seen any trace of what she did in her mind at all. Malbonte knew Antigone was impulsive, it was one of the many things he admired about her, but he never, ever expected her to give up. Ever.

He tried to save her, but her aim was impeccable and with the shackles around her neck she was drained of so much of her immortality that she was practically human. He pulled the knife from her and sent his energy to her heart in an effort to heal her but it had already stopped and now he didn't know what to do.

"Antigone!"

Dino's anguished cry snapped Malbonte to the present. He looked at Dino coldly, and without a word flew away with Antigone in his arms ignoring Dino and the other angel as he flew away. To his relief they didn’t try to follow, he likely would have killed them if they had; he needed the quiet to figure out what to do next.

First, he brought Antigone to her father’s house on Earth, hoping to find where the mortal man was buried so Antigone could be next to him. Unfortunately, in the chaos of the impending Apocalypse, nobody had noticed her father’s death yet and he hadn't been buried. His decaying body sat where it had in the living room where Lucifer ended his life days before, staring back at Malbonte in condemnation as he carried the corpse’s dead daughter into the room.

Malbonte frowned to himself. Should he bury Antigone’s father too? He'd have to come back, it wouldn't be long before Plague came looking for him and first he had to ensure Plague couldn’t get to Antigone. Still carrying her, he went to the back of the house and found a shovel. He gently placed Antigone on the ground as he tied it to his belt, securing it tightly before picking her up again and taking off.

Next, he brought Antigone to an island as far away from the Academy as he could find. He was determined to at least fulfill her final wish, to give her the freedom from Plague she sought so desperately she ended her own life over it. He couldn't be there for her the way she needed him to be, and now because of him, the only person other than his parents who ever cared for him was gone forever.

When he found a suitable island he brought her beneath a huge willow tree and sat for a while with her head in his lap. He brushed her hair out of her face and studied it carefully. She looked peaceful, if he hadn't felt her heart stop and their connection cease he would believe she was sleeping. It was the first time since Plague's arrival he had a chance to really look at Antigone. She lost a lot of weight while she was kept in her prison, and her beautiful skin was smattered in bruises and scrapes that were unusual to see on an immortal. The shackles around her neck left a dark bruise that seemed to taunt him. In one swift motion, Malbonte removed the chain from Antigone's throat and threw it off the side of the island.

He didn't know how long he sat there with her, absent-mindedly stroking her hair as he contemplated how things turned out this way. He was grateful at least, that Shephamalum's whispers were notably absent so he could grieve her in peace. Malbonte wasn't a sentimental man, several thousand years of systemic torture had sufficiently destroyed any part of him that was capable of affection, but Antigone was his exception, his only exception. He knew the Bont side of him was worried what he'd do without her. She was the only thing that kept his darkness in check and now she's gone, and it’s all his fault. He could have protected her better, he could have tried to shield her, he could have not followed through with his plans… so many things he could have done and now it was too late.

Finally, after several hours of just... sitting with her, Malbonte got up and started digging. He could just shift the earth with his powers, but there was something more... intimate about him doing it the human way. A tribute to who Antigone was, the most remarkable Unclaimed to have ever existed. In his opinion, the most remarkable person. She had been his everything, the light to his darkness, the kindness to his evil and now…

He kept digging, far longer than he needed to as he let the repetitive motion distract him from the rage and despair building up inside of him. This feeling was somehow both familiar and foreign to Malbonte, it had been a very long time since he had someone to grieve, and while he’d known since the moment they met when he was still Bont that he loved her he couldn’t even deny it to himself anymore. It was more than their connection, Antigone was everything warm and light in his otherwise dark and cold life, and without her he had nothing left.

"What... are you doing?"

Malbonte froze. He hadn't even registered in his anguish, but suddenly his entire body was flooded with relief and... connection. He turned slowly from his place in the hole he’d dug to face her, unable to hide the surprise on his face.

"You're.. awake?"

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words he was really thinking.

Alive. She’s alive. How?

Antigone was sitting on the ground where he left her, watching him with curiosity.

"Where are we?"

She left his question unanswered, asking her own instead. Malbonte dropped the shovel in the hole he was burying and rushed over to her, ignoring her flinch when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She froze in his embrace for only a moment before melting in his arms the way she always did and burying her face in his chest. He felt her anguish and relief from his embrace as he held her close.

He was confused, he knew without a doubt that she was dead. Their connection had snapped within him like a dry twig the moment her heart stopped and her energy had completely ceased to exist. Yet here she was in his arms, speaking to him as though she had only taken a nap. Their connection intact, her energy brightening his own like it always had.

"I'm not sure," he finally answered her question.

He felt Antigone's confusion and surprise and had no doubt she could sense his own.

How is this even possible? Did Shephamalum have something to do with it?

Malbonte knew the god of darkness would be able to, He had brought Malbonte back from death countless times. It didn't seem likely though, not unless He needed Antigone for something that Malbonte was not yet aware of. Malbonte dismissed the thought for now, but he'd come back to it later. In this moment he didn’t want to think about anything, anything but the woman in his arms whose tears were dampening his jacket as he held her tightly.

It was then Antigone seemed to notice her chain was gone. She put her hand up to her throat gingerly, her hands shaking as though she couldn't believe it.

"Did you... free me?"

Malbonte continued to hold her, not willing to let her go in that moment. She was warm, she was breathing and alive and he wanted nothing more in that moment to bask in her warmth, in her life and light and everything in between.

"You died."

He finally found the words to admit it. Antigone looked up at him from his arms, studying his face closely.

"I intended to.”

Her voice was quiet and without regret.

"I didn't expect you to... give up,"

He studied her face carefully as he spoke, trying to piece together what was going on. She intended to die. She really was dead. Had he gone mad? Was she a figment of his sick brain and he finally snapped?

"That's because I didn't."

He could feel the amusement in her energy as she spoke, and if he wasn’t so fucking relieved to be speaking to her again it would have angered him. Instead, he tilted his head in curiosity.

"You're not making a lot of sense."

"It's not so fun being on that side of things, is it?" Antigone chuckled dryly. She sighed heavily and stepped back from Malbonte, looking at his hands still holding her arms. "Are you going to bring me back there?"

Malbonte shook his head.

"They think you're dead. Let it stay that way."

"Malbonte..." Antigone started. "I'm not going to stay in hiding if that's what you're implying."

"It's better than killing yourself”

His tone was cold, reflecting the anger he felt toward her careless and in his opinion, selfish action. To his surprise, Antigone laughed.

"I didn't think I had any secrets from you," she replied casually.

Malbonte only blinked, looking at her strangely.

"You... don't..."

He studied Antigone carefully as he spoke, surprised to find her mind mysteriously silent. Had she figured out how to block him from her thoughts?

"Hm"

Malbonte looked Antigone up and down carefully supressing the urge to chuckle at her defiant stare.

"You knew you'd come back." He said finally.

Antigone laughed again and shook her head.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Malbonte was confused. Antigone really didn't have any secrets from him, he could read her mind more easily than his own, but there was nothing but silence in that moment.

Are you trying to read my thoughts?

Finally, her voice entered his mind again. Malbonte smirked.

I don't think you'll find what you're looking for.

Malbonte continued to study the woman in front of him carefully. Finally, he spoke.

"Where will you go?"

Antigone shrugged. "I'm not sure I should tell you that."

Malbonte chuckled as a picture of a small house on the edge of a cliff on Earth came to his mind from her memories. Clearly, she was planning to go there.

"You won't be safe with humans," he said carefully, chuckling at Antigone's huff of indignation.

"It'd be nice if I could hide this stuff from you too."

"You won't be safe," he repeated.

"I'll be safer than I was with you."

Malbonte couldn't argue that. He did his best to keep her out of harm’s way, and the only reason she was alive as long as she had been was because he convinced Plague not to kill her. Still, he knew things hadn’t been easy for Antigone, she’d been tortured and starved in the dungeons for months and when she was finally released tortured some more. Malbonte clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the self-hatred bubbling through his veins.

It’s all my fault.

"There's... a resistance," he started quietly, interrupting his own thoughts, he’d have plenty of time for his self-hatred later. "I don't know where they are, but Lucifer is working with them. I'll send him to you at the humans, he'll tell you how to find them."

Antigone turned to Malbonte, her brow furrowed in frustration.

"Malbonte, you could just tell me what you're up to. Maybe I want to help you."

"No."

Antigone huffed angrily.

"How do you keep doing this? Why do you keep pushing me away?"

Malbonte sighed heavily and dropped his head.

"Because I don't want you on my path of darkness with me.”

"Is that up to you to decide?" Antigone asked him, unable to hide the contempt in her voice. There was a pause where he considered her words. Of course it wasn’t up to him but…

"No," he answered finally. "But I won't let you anyway. You're better than this."

"So are you." Antigone looked at Malbonte with sad eyes, shaking her head when he chuckled. "So. Are. You."

"You see something in me that isn't there, Antigone." he said finally. "I'll send Lucifer to find you. He'll make sure you're safe."

"Lucifer who kept me on a leash and called me his pet a few hours ago? I'd prefer if you didn't."

"Lucifer won't hurt you,"

He was confident, and when he finally convinced her to wait for the demon he breathed a sigh of relief.

This was for the best. Selfishly, he’d miss her but he knew he couldn’t make her stay at the academy and risk losing her forever. Just because she came back once doesn’t mean she would again. Besides, as much as he hated himself for it, he needed her to fulfill his plan, even if he couldn’t tell her what it was; even if she would hate him in the end anyway.

He’d handle it, as long as she was alive to brighten the world, he would handle it.

#rc fanfic #rc ff

8 notes · View notes

illarian-rambling · 2 months

Note

Can you tell me about Anarac Fifth-Blood ?

Feel free to info dump :)

Oh boy, you've just opened pandora's box, my friend! My other characters have lore, but Anarac has lore. As in, he's part of Illarian Holy Canon. But let's get to that in a bit >:)

Putting this under a cut because it got hella long lmao

Anarac was born 3500 years before the present day in the city of Dualn, capital of the Araunian Empire. (Fun fact: his surname is Fifth-Blood because his family had lived there for five generations, making his kids' surnames Sixth-Blood). Now, in the current day, Araun is a wasteland of poisonous desert, their empire and people wiped off the map until all that was left is their ruins. However, back in the day, it was the center of Illari civilization. Magic was basically invented there, along with things like written language and agriculture. See, it wasn't a desert back in the day, but we'll get to that.

For all his civilization's greatness, Anarac was kind of just a guy. He married his childhood sweetheart, had two kids basically right out of high school, and then divorced his childhood sweetheart a few years later when she up and left after deciding that she wanted more in life. Anarac was left as the sole guardian of his sons: Finian and Baerdyn. Despite his heartbreak, Anarac did his best to give his sons a happy childhood. He gave up on opening a resteraunt and took a job as a market guard, selling sandwiches out of a cart at night to make a little extra money on the side. Things might’ve been rough sometimes, but he and his sons were happy. Anarac always took the time, no matter how exhausted, to run around the park with Baerdyn or to help Finian study for his school's gifted program.

But all would not stay well. See, the Araunians knew of the dark force that curled around the Illari solar wheel. They built their cities as giant compounds to avoid going outside into the starlight. But your average Araunian wasn't too concerned with this. Anarac went outside at night often to ply his food cart wares to overnight travelers. This never had any impact for decades, but it was only when he got too close an elven caravan that he felt a certain curious pressure. Anarac followed this sensation until he came across a ring of dancing figures, one wild dancer at their center. The pressure in his skull grew until he blacked out. When he came to, his hands were wrapped around the dead dancer's neck, the rest of her companions having fled.

Anarac, though he didn't know these words, was End-Made-Flesh. One of those cursed folk the godkiller End could channel itself through. The elf he killed was a priest of the elven gods. Again though, Anarac didn't know this. All he knew was that he was terrified. He hid the body, knowing that if he was arrested, no one would be there to take care of his sons. He tried to live life as normal, except that pressure wouldn't leave. Not knowing what to do, after several weeks, Anarac went to a priest.

In the chamber of the temple, as the confused priest read out manuscripts describing End, Anarac felt that pressure again as he stepped under a skylight. The Araunians revered the sun, so most of their temples had skylights, but in this case, it only served to let in the stars. In that moment, Anarac was transformed into a true avatar of End. His form grew huge and monstrous, his consciousness locked into the back of his mind as End took control and tore through the temple before the priest could reveal the truth to Anarac.

For the next few years, Anarac lived as a prisoner in a body that was no longer his own. End ripped through temple after temple, hoping to weaken the worship of the gods. Anarac grew desperate for a way out. When they fought at a Skysheerian temple near the shore, he managed to trick End into entering the deep water. The only thing Anarac could control was his body's breathing and he very nearly managed to kill both himself and End. However, End was wilier than that. It also realized that its flesh needed to be punished and broken.

End returned to Dualn. It sought out Anarac's home where his sons still lived, Finian doing his best to take care of Baerdyn so they didn't end up in an orphanage. Wearing the face of their father, End entered even as Anarac screamed internally. It then ripped apart Anarac's sons with his own hands.

After that, Anarac stopped resisting. He couldn't do anything but scream without lungs as End refused to wash off his precious sons' blood. Soon after that, the Chosen were created by the Illarian gods to stop this avatar of End, which is an important moment in Illarian history. They killed Anarac by beheading and both Anarac's soul and the piece of End that inhabited his body were sent back up beyond the sun's light.

End is sort of like a colonial organism. It is made up of many minds, and after he died, Anarac became one of these minds. For thousands of years, he existed within this being. His identity was all but scraped away, the only thing left being his scream for his sons.

It was only when another avatar was created that Anarac was sent down to Illaros again, along with other minds of End, to inhabit her body. "Her" being Izjik of Honor's Outcasts. Through the power of proper socializing, Izjik managed to bring Anarac slightly back into awareness as they were both locked away while End committed atrocities once more. I'm not going to spoil the end of Honor's Outcasts, but suffice to say, Anarac's soul was eventually freed and entrusted to the Illarian god of loyalty, as not even the gods knew where the souls of the rest of the Araunians were. (Some time after Anarac died, the Araunian species went extinct in the same event that destroyed their empire, but we're not gonna get into that).

He stayed for a while in the god of loyalty's heaven, despite it not really being where he belong and despite him still being too terrified to speak to any other dead souls. For the first time in millenia, Anarac wasn't under End's control. He hardly knew what to do with himself.

The Starbreaker gets involved when some scientists and a Chosen decide to send a ship crewed by ghosts through space to break through End's blockade on the solar wheel. They picked several souls they thought might be important: a star sailor, an astronomer, a cartographer, and a smooth talker. But one thing was missing - someone who actually knew anything about End. Anarac was the only soul who could fulfill such a requirement, so he was sent along on his voyage through space, too. That's where the story of Starbreaker picks up, which I haven't written yet.

As he is in Starbreaker, Anarac barely remembers what it's like to be a person. Pretty much any sensation terrifies him. He forgets he can move and talk under his own power. Despite not knowing his role, the rest of the crew of the Starbreaker do their best to take care of him. And although he's deeply scarred, Anarac does try to help his crew in any small way he can. He's prone to silent gestures of kindness, and though he's usually too frightened to leave the hold, he will do so if he thinks his friends are in danger, though usually with a hand over his eyes. Pash especially, he seeks to protect, as the young fae can be exceptionally reckless. One thing that does draw Anarac out of his shell is music and cooking. He has no need to cook on a ship full of dead people, but on music nights, he will nod along to the beat, remembering a distant time when he used to love to dance. Out of all of the crew, he is the only one who know the true danger of their mission. He's terrified, yes, but also determined to finally get one up on the demon that tormented him for so long.

As for his appearance, look no further than my profile pic! He has red skin, blond hair, and orange eyes, and as a ghost, is still dressed in the archaic clothes he died in, with a gash around his neck indicating he was beheaded. I also have this picrew :)

So yeah, that's my most fucked up of fucked up little guys. Starbreaker will see him come out of his shell a bit now that he's around other people who can activate his protective parent instincts with their sheer dumbassery. Sorry for the super long post, but I can't say I didn't warn you lol

Anyways, thanks so much for the ask! I hope you have a bitchin day in return for making mine all the better for letting me info dump <3

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #writing asks

12 notes · View notes