#Astray Gold Frame

[gerogerigaogaigar]

RG Gundam Astray Gold Frame Amatsu Mina

This guy is by far the most extra thing I have ever built. I love the Astray designs for just that reason but oh my god is this something else. The best part is she's pretty sturdy, you would expect there to be loose pieces left and right on something like this, but aside from the heels falling off when manhandled I didn't have any problems. Anyway this is the coolest backpack unit that any mobile suit in the entire franchise has.

[gundamfight]

[lizalfosrise]

Finished up this incredibly stylish and intricate beauty earlier, the RG Amatsu Mina!

I’ll agree with what I learnt of its reputation as a very irregular and demanding kit, since this one such finicky pieces and did end up with (obscured by construction) blood on a part.

[jlcomicsandgames]

Gundam, Gunpla from Japan! Bael Gundam, Gundam Aerial, Crossbone Gundam,...

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 11)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

“Adam, for your transgression, you will be dealt with accordingly. For now, you are dismissed.” 

Adam’s voice and demeanor had become so grating to you that you actively blocked out the bitching that followed. You weren’t sure if, when he’d finally stopped having a foul-mouthed tantrum, a lot of time had passed or not. 

It didn’t matter when you were blessed with near silence at last. A slip of harsh gold out of the corner of your eye led you to believe that Adam’s lackey had followed him out. 

“Emily, please follow.”

“But Sera…” 

“No harm will come to her here. She just needs time.”

There was no need to look up, as the fluttering of Emily’s wings were now telltale in spite of how little you’d known her. 

“Go on.” 

You hadn’t seen her go, but it was like all the energy in the air had been sucked out as she left you behind. In her stead was a still, oppressive atmosphere where anxiety lingered to crawl up your spine the longer you sat in it. 

Sera was staring down at you. 

“Why…” Your voice was hoarse, even if you hadn’t been screaming or sobbing as you wanted to. 

Swallowing back the thickness that had built in your throat physically hurt. An errant thought that it shouldn’t (nothing should hurt anymore) passed you by. 

“Why am I here?” You looked up, staring back at Sera. 

The Angel considered you for a long moment. 

“Your place here has been ordained by the Father, a privilege bestowed upon you for your act of service.” 

The words from her lovely mouth didn’t make sense for so long that you almost asked the Seraphim to repeat herself. Your eyes narrowed as your gaze turned roundabout, as if whatever could make sense of this was somewhere in your surroundings. 

“I… Wait, I’d have thought that…” Head shaking, you implored Sera again with your eyes. “What service?”

“You delivered upon the world Christ’s opposing force through your union with —” Here, you saw Sera’s long throat flex with the effort of swallowing.

“Lucifer.” You finished, watching and confirming as Sera’s frame twitched that just the mention of the Devil made this powerful force uncomfortable. 

It was odd, but didn’t take away the pain that just mentioning his name brought. You felt as if a great gaping hole had been punched through your chest, taking with it all your vital organs and the power of your lungs.

Impressions of his anguished face and the sound of Charlotte crying were permanently etched in your mind. You bit down on your tongue, lest you scream your grief. 

It felt like they had died and not you. 

“I’ll never see them again.” Your head fell into your hands as you were overcome. “I barely got to hold my own baby.”

Sera sighed deeply, inching toward the War Table adjacent to you both. 

“I understand that leaving people behind can be painful.” Her great arms reached over the table, motioning until light rose from the board and took on fantastical shapes. “But time heals all.” 

Instead of comfort, her wisdom made you sniffle. You rubbed your eyes like a child to prevent the steady rise of tears threatening to escape. 

Through the blur, you saw Sera smile wanly. “You may feel grateful with time. Staying any longer could have led you further astray.” 

That made you pause between shuddering sobs. 

Fuck, you’d been sobbing on the floor of heaven.

Fucking Heaven. 

“W-what?” You asked finally.

Sera’s idle hands continued to create new sources of light and shape. You rose from the floor of cumulus and nimbus on jelly legs and walked toward her, for lack of anything else to do. 

A perfect sphere rose above the table, with little pinpricks of light surrounding it. It could’ve been anything but you had the sense to imagine it was a depiction of Earth. 

“Had you stayed mortal and lived another 10, 20, perhaps 30 years, you could have become susceptible to the enemy’s mindset.” Sera said. “It’s not unthinkable when human beings are often led by their hearts, even if it goes against their best interest.”

Your heart was jabbed with indignation at that.

“Acts of Service can become Acts of Sacrifice if one veers off the path.” She gently swirled around the Earth with one hand, and it fell into a tilt naturally before rotating among the stars. 

Sera eyed you from her peripheral as you stood beside her to watch. “You might’ve grown attached and… denied yourself.” 

“Hold on, please — just…” You closed your eyes after several moments.  “I’m here, in Heaven, because Lucifer asked that I be let up here when I died?” 

“That is correct.” Sera guided the stars in a variety of paths. 

“And you agreed because having his baby was actually a good thing?” You asked. “But how? Why would God want that to happen if the Devil is his enemy?”

“Life is all about balance.” The celestial took on the role of teacher naturally. “Light needs darkness to exist. This is how it has been and will always be, since He created the Heavens and the Earth.”

“Lucifer has gone on too long without an heir - Hell cannot be unmanned should anything happen to its King. To ensure that this would never come to pass, He agreed to certain terms, which have been abided by — despite Lucifer’s constant revisions.”

At that, the Seraphim looked borderline petulant. Her disapproval was clear in the way the many eyes that decorated her wingspan, hair and crown-like halo shrunk into slivered crescents.

“It’s been centuries since he was ordered to conceive a child. Out of Love, the Father bestowed an exorbitant amount of time on him to make it happen. Once you were found and the contract was signed, your place in Heaven was guaranteed as stipulated.” She halted her recital to spare a glance your way.

“His ways can be opaque, but they are always meant to take us in the right direction.” Sera offered after a lull, to dispel the dumbfounded look on your face. You could see the way her lips pursed, as if daring to question that explanation was an affront to her existence. As if what she’d just told you didn’t change your perception so thoroughly that your head was spinning.

Self-preservation no longer being a factor, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, ‘God works in mysterious ways’.” You mocked. “People say that when they don’t know what to say. But you actually work under God, don’t you??” 

“That is a crude way to describe my role here.” Sera responded with reproach. 

“But essentially correct.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You take orders from Him, clearly.”

The Seraphim’s manicured nails pierced through the infinitely shifting stars, fingers curling into a claw as the line of her mouth grew severe. Her brow downturned as she faced you, irritated. 

“Just like Lucifer took orders from Him, I bet.” The pieces were slotting into place. “Until he… until he… did exactly what he was supposed to.” 

You laughed with disbelief at the revelation, hands coming up to grab at your thankfully unchanged hair. The starlight before you began to dim, falling back into the passive marble of the war table. Sera pivoted rather abruptly, a touch of disquiet in her fractured facade as she took in your dysfunction. 

Her gaze became shifty, and you caught it, but it was the least of your concerns. You were in the middle of a manic breakdown for the second time in less than an hour. 

Lucifer didn’t like to talk about Heaven — that was evident from his stuttering when he first revealed himself to you. So, whether it was out of the goodness of your heart or built-in doormat passivity, you hadn’t discussed the place. Truthfully, you’d thought very little of it as a place and more as a concept, even when the Devil came knocking on your door in flesh and blood. 

It was an uphill battle to calm yourself. You closed your mouth to stop the laughing and coughed at the tickle to your throat. You’d never been good at breathing through your nose. Arms slid down to clutch at your stomach and center yourself, frame slowly easing out of the hyperventilation.  

“So… God damned his own son to Hell and made him into Heaven’s Big Bad for the sake of balance… And he wanted that Big Bad to have a child like He Himself did, also for the sake of balance…” 

‘And Lucifer agreed as long as you got to go to eternal paradise…’

Your summation was stated lifelessly, a knife’s edge away from sarcastic. The big secret to Life was out: it was all a fun little show that God put on for himself to stave off boredom. Even those he held closest weren’t safe from it. 

“An-nd you’ve never ever questioned this?” You asked faintly, a crooked smile of disbelief on your face. “Ever?”

A breeze blew back the hair that had fallen into your face.

Sera was suddenly so much closer in proximity, and you flinched back at the power exuding from her like an aura. 

“We do not question the Father.” The Seraphim’s glower betrayed her true feelings toward you. Yet, instead of continuing to back away from the hostility, you forced yourself to stand in place as best you could. 

It gave you whiplash when Sera’s pinched face relaxed. She straightened up with another deep, deep sigh. The danger that felt like static electricity dissipated from your skin, but you held onto the edge of the war table regardless. 

The light show had gone off as quickly as it was turned on. You felt its loss of warmth as sharply as you’d felt Emily’s. 

“Lucifer was unable to fully grasp the Great Purpose.” Sera was imposing as she straightened to her fully height and towered above you once again. “He questioned everything, and for it he Fell.” 

“And I would suggest,” The Seraphim glared at you as if you were an insect she wanted to crush. “that you do not emulate his sin. For the sake of your immortal soul.” 

***

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin, @rebecca-hvnstn, @velvette3, @kermitdafroggy, @wpdarlingpan, @apatcheworkofproblems, @cherry-cola-100, @pink-apples001, @al-of-the-stars, @backinthefkingbuildingagain, @martinys-world, @alastorssimp, @wobblesthewaffle, @shikiribee, @undertale-anomaly20, @asakura-fangirl-stuff, @ringsofpersonti, @angelicwillows, @wingoodlilboymyway, @cimadreamer, @museofzealoushope, @oneiric-rotaerc, @call-me-nyxx

[lovelykhaleesiii]

as I was taking I am taking FULL advantage of the requests.

as I am on a roll for chubby daddy! aegon and professor! aegon may I maybe suggest an idea where his class is very surprised to discover that he has a wife and a child while they catch them onto a pic-nic and aegon is like 'yeah, why do you think that your papers comes with glitter on them? or handprints?'.

just cute chubby daddy! aegon who doesn't only have to handle a toddler at home but also at work (although he teaches either at high school or university).

ok ok that's it, I am done and I hope you'll enjoy my silly requests but if you don't, pls feel free to ignore them!

Angsti this is yet another delicious request!!! thank you for spoiling me with your ideas I can never get enough!!! hope you enjoy this xox

To Lead Astray Or Not...

PAIRING: chubby!Professor!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Wife!Reader [Modern AU]

WORDS: 2,381.

WARNINGS: fluff, Daddy!Aegon, professor kink (?), female oral receiving, mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, size kink, slight breeding kink, non-implied references to affair/cheating, swearing.

A/N - something I whipped up on my little hiatus. still not 100% with my writing but it’s okay xx sorry my love, I changed the plot slightly, forgive me.

“Are they truly that oblivious to that shiny, gold band on your finger?” You lightly chuckle, amused at the revelation your beloved husband spoke of, upon returning home from work, with yet another spoiled gift of baked goodies in his hand.

Throughout the semester, since Aegon had commenced his new position, his pupils had taken it upon themselves, eager to delight their plump professor with delectable treats, knowing precisely the way to his heart was through his stomach. As untempted as Aegon was with their meticulous attempts, he wouldn’t deny himself to a few servings [the entire container], often plainly excusing his innocent debauchery with the line “it would be such a shame to waste food.” 

“That seems to be the case… As much as I try to flaunt it on their faces. This is ridiculous, there's no time for these shenanigans. I have to put an end to their madness, or else-.” Aegon exclaims, with a mouthful of baked choc-chip cookies in his plump mouth. The fullness of his handsome face had accentuated as he gorged himself silly. Seemingly the sedentary lifestyle of working behind a desk, the most strenuous action he’d often only undertaken, was that of lifting a ballpoint pen to mark a few papers, Amounting overtime gradually, as it began to blatantly show on his newly found stout figure. Not that you had grown to distaste your beloved husband’s changes, quite the opposite, in fact.

“Or else I’d be losing my husband to some college school girls? He’ll have to roll himself out of here,” You subtly chuckle, as you continued on stirring the full, warm pot at hand.

“Y/N- Do not toy with me about this. It’s serious-” Aegon firmly put it, before reaching for another cookie, eyeing it’s detail, most likely estimating ratio of choc chip inside.

Aegon shared an immense enjoyment when it came to food, relishing in different cuisines and palates, and mostly baked treats. He was scarcely a picky eater and had a grand appetite, going hand in hand. Often in the late hours of the night when he remained tediously awake, skimming over and dotting down notes on mounds of papers, did he find himself constantly munching on something. Whether it was a sneaky fast-food takeout or some sweet snack he could scour in the pantry, his keen mouth was always full and chomping.

His plush, soft belly throughout each semester had slowly extended in size, generously pushing across his waistline that was now hidden beneath the mass. His hips had grown wider in frame, love handles now obvious in plain sight even beneath his tight dress shirts and tightly fitted blazers, tubby to hold as it would pool at the sides. Standing beside your dear husband, it was evident that Aegon's substantial frame could smother you whole, if he ever so desired as you did. Despite him paying now mind to his evident changes, you had rather relished in it.

Sidetracked in your own sensual thoughts, your lustful eyes lingering over Aegon relievingly devouring another cookie, the sudden shrieking cries erupting from down the hall snapped you back to the reality at hand.

"I'll get her-" Aegon uttered, licking the crumbs of his fingers as he strolled away from you hovering over the stove, as you busied yourself with the evening’s dinner. A minute scattered by, when you heard the familiar, heavy footsteps of Aegon re-entering the kitchen once more, only this time, with a little companion strapped to his arms.

"Look who just woke up, my sweet princess," Aegon giddily whispered, cooing at the little girl in his arms, as she rubbed her little lilac eyes: a split image of her Daddy. Resting her tiny head against his broad shoulder, Aegon swayed her from side to side subtly, bopping her lightly as he tried to feed her a cookie, taking a sneaky bite from it first.

"Hiya Mumma, someone woke up a little early."

Walking over towards Aegon and your daughter cosily nestled in his thick arms, you softly reach and grip for her hand pulling it in for a loving kiss. Earning a small little yawn from her behalf, as Aegon tenderly pecked at the base of her head.

"Sounds like we have competition, you and I, babygirl-" You taunt, exchanging a swift wink to Aegon, who in response rolled his eyes to your jab.

“C’mon Y/N. There’s no competition at all. Nothing could possibly tempt me, when I’ve already won at life. I have everything I could have possibly imagined and more, all thanks to you-” 

“Not even with all these goodies, you can’t seem to help but scoff down, hmm?” 

“If I’m being frank, my love… These don’t even come close to your home-cooked meals, isn’t that right, bubba?” Aegon bopping his little girl, stirring her more awake, as she nibbled at the small bite from the cookie, her face adorably screwing with disgust, in agreement with her father’s dissatisfaction with the treats. 

“Well relieved to hear my cooking is keeping you grounded. Was getting worried I would be losing my husband to his schoolgirl fanclub. Perhaps their treats won’t be the only thing they’re willing to offer next time-” You tease, yet a grim tone coated your words, as you coldly turned your back to your husband, resuming your cooking once more. 

“Y/N, baby, c’mon now-” Aegon earnestly sighed, as he carefully plopped his daughter down at her high chair, who now took the cookie to her own matters: the only time you were willing to allow her to play with food rather than indulging herself as her father did. 

Aegon’s pudgy hands tightly gripped at your waist, tugging your body to swivel in his direction, as you face him defeatedly. 

“Now how could you ever think that of me? Am I so naive to be seduced by some minor league scholar, when I have such a beautiful, accomplished wife at home, that I just can’t ever get enough of, who spoils me like a King? I mean look at me woman. Look at what you’ve done to me!” Aegon chuckles proudly, swaying his thick arms up as his eyes hover over his swollen gut pressing up against your meek frame. 

“Please, Y/N. I’m going to come clear about this double life, squash all their hopes and dreams. You know how kids are at that age, don’t you remember how we were, huh?-” Aegon growls, as his hands snake their way behind, his palms finding their way naturally to your bosom, confidently squeezing at your fleshy cheeks, earning a little squeak from you. Intentionally pushing your smaller body against his cushioned frame, your blush lips meet with his momentarily falling into a passionate, longing kiss, as Aegon’s eager tongue peaks through your lips, swirling against yours. Immersing himself completely in your taste. Breaking free, his nose nuzzles against yours, as he gleefully smiles down at you. 

“Don’t you ever dare to think otherwise, it hurts my feelings when you think of me capable of that, you know,” He quietly mutters, as his thumb gently grasps and pulls at your chin, nudging you to look directly up at him, your dimly joyful eyes met with his half-hearted smirk.

“I love you, and only you. My precious girl. Shall I make it up to you tonight, hmm?” 

Giddily blushing and nodding to his words, just as Aegon slowly leaned in to chase another kiss, the loud babbling of your daughter tore him astray midway, interrupting the intimate moment, as you both gleamed at the little girl with sincere smiles, only to be met with her innocent frown. Just as her grandmother, Alicent, had noticed and shared, “she seems to have gathered her father’s expressive gene”, as she never seems to struggle nor shy away from her emotions. 

“And you, my little one-” Aegon boasts, as he races over towards her, picking her up once more with such ease, as her weight is close to that of a feather for him. 

“My two precious girls, what more could I possibly want?” 

Later that evening, after you had both dined well together and the little princess returned to her crib from her Daddy’s plush lap, fast asleep in her deep slumber once more, Aegon took his steady time proving exactly what he meant. Lusting and touching at your body as he slowly undressed you piece by piece, handling you with great care as though you were some rare gem he had just unearthed, a delicate commodity in his bare hands. He could scarcely keep his hands off you even during dinner or as you washed the dishes, lulling his little girl asleep in one arm, and the other wrapped tenderly around your waist, embracing you. 

“How’d I end up being the luckiest man in the world, huh? A wife that takes care of me, makes sure I’m abundantly well-fed, who blessed me with the most perfect child…. My beautiful fucking wife.” 

Kissing at your tender skin across your abdomen leaving a moist trail, Aegon seated himself at the edge of the mattress, and you remained standing above, with his soft hands held firmly at your hips. 

“And you think I would give up all this in a heartbeat? For a bunch of hormonal, minor league girls? You leave me no choice but to fuck some real, hard sense into you, Y/N.” 

“Hmm, is that so?” You breathlessly whimper, as Aegon’s mouth lapped at your entrance between the front folds, his fleshy hands once again, finding their way to your bosom, as he firmly grips and kneads ar your cheeks. 

“Gonna teach me a lesson, Professor? Have I been such an ignorant brat, needy to be put back in line. Punish me, Aeg. Teach me a good, hard lesson I won’t forget-”

Aegon releases his latched mouth from your throbbing, moist cunt, his lips glistening in the dim, cosy light. A familiar smirk strewed across his full face, one that you had gathered could only mean one thing… Mischief. 

As Aegon’s weight had marvelled, so did his strength. Inevitably, his mass was heavier against you, often finding yourself squirming beneath his bulk and the mattress, as he would fuck you from atop with vigour. His thick, fat cock stretching your walls beyond relief, as you could meekly feel yourself from below clenching around his stiff cock, with his round gut laying sprawled above your own. The pressure he exerted from within your folds, bulging inside and the pressure from outside was overwhelmingly insatiable, stimulating you to an aching climax like none before. 

Although, it also meant his once impressive stamina would now often exceed quickly, finding himself breathlessly huffing and puffing for more, Aegon remained insistent on continuing, with you eagerly taking the reins from above, as he would often lay himself comfortably down, pacing his rapid breath. Riding his cock was a pleasure, as he relished in watching you strenuously exert great efforts, like the obedient wife you were, keen to sate your husband’s appetite. Steadying yourself against his meaty flesh, often finding your small hands cupping and massaging at his now obviously, sensitive moobs. Not to forget on Aegon’s behalf, your tits were a glorious sight to see, enthusiastically bouncing above from the momentum of your quickening pace: especially after the birth, your breasts naturally remained somewhat swollen and plump, Aegon savouring your bodily changes just as much. 

Nonetheless, the sex peaked, and Aegon remained true to his word… He indeed taught you a valuable lesson that night. 

“Perhaps if I’ve fucked another child into you, that ought to keep you in check.” 

“So you’ve been married this entire time?” One of his pupils exclaimed, confusion plastered across her face, as Aegon nodded keenly. 

“Indeed, a very happy wife and little bub at home. With another on the way it seems, hence why I’ll be away next semester.” 

“Is that why some of our quiz papers came back with glitter and weird little scribbles?” 

Arms remained tightly folded, Aegon defeatedly shaking his head in disbelief, as he helplessly chuckled at the illogical discourse at hand. His wide back-side remained leaning back on his desk, the wood creaking beneath his weight, yet he paid no mind. 

“Did you honestly think that was all me? And watch yourself Lannister, she’s learning pencil grip… She’s only 14 months, which is pretty impressive to me.” 

“But you’ve never mentioned them before?” Another pupil hastily questioned. 

“Never felt the need to. This is an academic lecture, not a TED Talk. And besides, did no one seriously not notice this?” Aegon exasperated, flashing his left ring finger, where a bulky, gold band wrapped around his thick digit. 

The silence that fell the room was palpable: a few of Aegon’s avid fanatics, awkwardly attempting to pull away their filled tupperware containers, back into their bags or laps, in a poor attempt to hide their shame. 

“Well I for one, would like to congratulate you Sir.” 

“Nice save Lannister. Now can we actually get back to the lesson or any more questions I need to clear?” 

“B-But you accepted our gifts? The cookies, and the-” One of the few Baratheon sisters that attended Aegon’s classes, stuttered, the colour in her face blush pink, yet her eyes saddened and watery, yet no tears fell. 

“Who am I to deny my appetite from a little snack? And besides, what a waste it would be. I presume you ladies just wanted me to bump up your grades, yes?” 

Each girl in the same exact front row that they’d been occupying the entire semester, began to nod in poor unison, not daring to venture not interrogate Aegon further, as his look now remained stern. 

The single, thunderous applaud echoed across the room, as he clapped his large hands together, excited to carry on with the lesson. The subtle sounds of pages opening, and pencils clicking, as Aegon began to write across the board, he felt a burden lift off his shoulders. The clarity was a relief, and the fact that he had a loving family awaiting for his arrival was his greatest achievement yet. Spoiled with a bliss life, thanks to you, his dotting, devoted wife, there was nothing that could tempt him astray otherwise.  

general taglist - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @rafesbarbiegirl @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit

credit for header - @/saradika

[ambivalencez]

Only good girl’s…

Summary: No power (Au)Domestic bliss slash Wanda teases y/n and receives the consequences.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem reader

Warning: +18Mommy kink, fingering, (r giving) oral(r giving) minors will be blocked if they interact.

Hissing the coffee puffs steam crackling out the last of the coffee. You can just smell today is another beautiful day. Inhaling the nutty ambrosial aroma tickling your nose. Grabbing your thermos the day commences as you; pour yourself and your wife’s morning brew. Checking the time you still have twenty minutes before you needed to head off. Placing Wanda’s pipping hot snoopy cup at the end of the counter. Screwing on the lid you flip the cap open holding it under your nose inhaling paradise. On the other side of the house, a bang goes off. Followed by a feminine voice wail. “Y/N, why you didn’t wake me up?! It’s 8:30 Billy and Tommy will be late for school!” And there it is you chuckle.

Coming alive out of your coffee leisure. Wanda rounded the pale white corner from the hallway. Entering the open floor plan connecting the kitchen and living room. Attempting to make herself at least appear somewhat presentable. From her wrinkled red cardigan the way her hair defied gravity atop her head. You could see it was failing, stifling a giggle as you continued sipping from your cup. You love her and it felt like you were made to love her from the moment you were born.

“Hey, hey it’s okay sweet. The boys are gone I got them ready and let you sleep.” Deflating Wanda walked over to you sagging her head tired between the crevice of your neck. “Thank you, I’m so ever loving fucking tired.” Breathing in the scent of her wispy hair your lung feel renewed. Before a shit-eating grin crept itself across your face. “Mmmhh, Y/n you better not be smiling.”Humming you keep your eyes closed. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” The vibration of her snort ran a chill along your back. “I felt your chin move,”

Wordless you reach to the side grabbing her coffee. “Wanda, have I ever told you how much I love you? How I adore you with every fiber of my being?” Peeling herself off you the auburn-haired woman's vibrant olive green eyes flickered back and forth. taking in the contents of your face. Long brunette hair pulled back bang combed over to the side. Your gold-framed rectangle glasses.

Placing the cup as a peace offering between the two of you. Wanda maneuvers her hand over it and pushes the coffee aside. Slithering her arms over your shoulders pulling you in close.“Go on, keep talking I want to hear more.” Just meters from your tentative lips eyes lidded and head tilted to the side. Right, where you can see the miniature sun’s at the focal point of her eyes light up from natural light. Wetting your lips seemed impossible “Fuck,” You whisper Tugging at your blazer your suit felt stuffie in here? Or maybe the coffee was kicking in. Adjusting uncomfortably you strain not to pull back your lips.

You could see it now, crashing your lips against her moist soft full ones.

Grabbing a firm hold of her ass and digging your nail in. Dropping her on the hard edge of the mineral counter. Ripping apart her denim button-up dress flinging buttons astray. Kneeling between her knees. The vein throbbing on the side of your neck. Staring at her full-blown eye irises. Daring not to tear your as away, slowly dragging her panties off with your teeth. Parting her legs the pungent smell of want between her folds. Teasing her entrance with your tongue anywhere than where she wants. Forming a strong grip Wanda threaded her fingers through your hair. “Dekta, enough with the playing fuck me already!” Wanda demanded. She must have forgotten who’s in charge. You will change that,

You make your way to her clit. Burying your nose against her wet hood. Planting your mouth on her clit swirling your tongue. Sucking the nectar clean Wanda bites her lips holding her cries. That won't do you want to hear her pretty little cries. You can feel her throb around your face. Stopping everything you lurch forward grabbing her face. Wanda’s chest greets you heaving as you watch throngs of sweat drip. One tit is exposed at the dress's left shoulder hanging loose. while others are trapped by fabric. “What have i told you about holding your voice in!?” You hiss baring your teeth and curling your lips.

“Only good girls cum,”

“Do you think you've been a very good girl? That Mommy should play with you?” You told her sternly. Wanda’s green eyes searched your leaning back nibbling on her lips. “No,” She whispered peering away from you. Relinquishing your grip on her face you begin stroking. “Look at me,” Watery green eyes meet yours. “Its okay baby.” Wanda's shoulders droop. “Now what do we say?” You waited patiently. “Please,” Wanda pleaded. “What was that?” you scolded. “Please make me cum mommy,”

“Thats all I need t-“

“Hello, earth to Y/n? Are you there?” Snapping back to reality a thought flashes through your mind. She got you right where she wanted you, all wound up. Fine, two can play that game.

“Wanda” your guttural voice warned before you pounced. Mmmph! Smashing her against the cupboard the door cracked. The impact sent your glasses clattering to the tiled floor. “At first i was just playing but then you look at me like that. My brain leaves the building and i just want to fuck you.” Melding lips taste one another savory smooth and warm like melting chocolate. Giving her no time for derive. Boxing her in there would be no escape from your retaliation.

Pinning her arms above her head. Sliding your leg between hers. Your reality is so much better~ than imagination at the feel of her juicy lips and tiny whimpers. “Cry for me baby,” You ground deep into her groin. “Mhmm, touch me,” Wanda squirmed. Closing your eyes you ground your against the tender skin of Wanda’s windpipe. Peppering cashmere kisses back up her throat and jaw. You make sure to smear your lipstick all over her neck. “Touch you where?”

Wanda thumped your arm.“Don't play around you did this to me!” Rubbing her chest up and to the side elicited a groan. “Maybe I did, but last time I checked. You answered to me.” You twist the delicate nub from where it rose. Suddenly sending a jolt throughout Wanda crying in the throws between pleasure and pain.

Exhaling your warm breath on her ear. “ You would let me do anything to you, wouldn't you? You would do anything to please me won't you?” Wanda nodded her head. Hiking up Wanda’s dress you slip your hand into her underwear. Kissing her you bit her bottom lip before dragging your tongue along her teeth. “Anything, please just use your fingers.” Wanda tensed up a let-out sob as you began rubbing gentle circles around her clit. “Ok keep your eyes on me if you close them ill have to punish you.”

“Open your mouth,”

“What?!”

“If you want my fingers so bad, then open your mouth.”You bit out. Wanda surrendered control opening her mouth taking in your left hand's middle and ring fingers. “Suck.” She began sucking as you; Wormed your fingers between her folds with your right. Her floral underwear pulled down to the side. She Writhing choking the drool dripped down your wrist.

Knuckling into her with your pointer and middle finger. Massaging her g spot she clamped down on your hand and began grinding. She was so wet it practically dripped down your fingers. Thrusting into her she moaned burying her head into your neck. So close- You could feel Wanda's walls clamping with a vicious grin of victory, she realized her mistake she held her hand over her face.

Pulling back you took two steps away. Walking to the door you turned the handle.“No, no Y/n please you can't leave me like this!” Wanda snatched your arm. “Oh, sweet Wanda.” You wiped the tears of frustration off her face. Licking them off your fingers. “I think i will.” Opening the door and stepping out turning to her. “After all, only good girls cum.”

[peoneys]

Just as he was thinking about him, he fell face to face with the object of this fiercest headaches.

The man was lazily sprawled unto his divan, surrounded by diverse cushions and fabrics thrown astray, one of his feet resting upon his shin as the other rested upon a cushioned stool.

He already could feel the start of a blossoming pain between his temples and just as he took in the state of dress -or rather undress- of the man in front of him, he could tell this one would be one his worst yet.

It was known far and wide that Dorne housed vastly different ethics than its northern neighbors. But being witness to it was far more shocking than just hearing about it in court talks. 

By the Seven. 

If his mother was ever to witness such a behavior -and she probably would by the end of their stay in the palace- she would surely grow gray hair in her brown curls. 

She had always favored high-collars dresses who hid perfectly any inch of skin on her chest and shoulders. And if by any chance eyes were to drift lower on her frame, they would be greeted by the cold gold of her seven pointed star necklace she adored so much.

Many omega gladly followed his mother’s fashion, and since the day she had been crowned queen, the followers of the court would be dressed in similar ways. 

And yet, now, even his older sister’s plunging necklines could not compare to the levels of scandalous shamelessness he was presently witnessing.

“Must you stand there and gape like a dumb stricken fool ?”

Ah. There it was. The headache.

“And must you always be of such disagreeable company.” it was a question he already had the answer to, unfortunately.

His remark had earned him a small round of low chuckles. The movement of it making every piece of jewelry the prince was wearing emit a light tinkling. 

Bare chested, with a long piece of cotton barely hiding his lower half in the proper ways, this was far from the memory of the simply clad boy he had kept with him for the thirteen years they had been apart.

“I only aim to please,” he said, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. “You should get used to it. Your family is here to stay for yet more insufferable moons.”

He scrunched up his face at the evident venom in the prince’s tone.

Where had the soft spoken and tender boy he had grown up with disappeared, he wondered. He had barely been four years of age when it was decided the eldest prince of Sunspear was to be fostered at the Red Keep, for the time the tensions with the Rhoynish peninsula would ease and cease.

The prince, of ten then, had appeared a small thing of agreeable temper. Silent unless spoken to. He could remember a time when no jewels would ever adorn his frame. Always dressed in the most simple of ways even during grand events where frivolity was expected of someone of his status.

Even his hair had been worn the shortest, shorn close to his scalp for the near decade he had spent at King’s Landing. The court at the Red Keep would often mistake him for an attending boy then. 

And yet, the same could not be said now.

Before him unmistakably sat none other than a prince, dressed in fine linens the colors of his house, bejeweled from head to toe. You could hear him minutes before appearing just by the chiming sound of his accessories.

“Do not forget, it is my family’s kindness that allowed you to be treated accordingly to your rank during your stay at the Keep. When others would have considered you no more than a war prisoner.” 

It was the wrong thing to say and he immediately noticed it. He was met with a glare full of disdain.

“Ah, yes, the famously known royal family’s merciful tendencies,” he said, with a slight dismissive wave of one of his ringed hands.

His eyes immediately traveled to the numerous scars the prince adorned on the back of both his hands, just to be raised again, this time on the dainty silver choker he knew rested upon the long line of the scar he wore at the side of his neck. The scar he had earned the same night he had lost his eye himself.

Wasn’t life funny.

“I’ll do you a kindness, your Grace, and remind you. As kind as your family was during my boyhood,” he huffed with a sharp smile, a storm gathering in his eyes. “You. Are currently staying in mine own ancestral home, to discuss peace treaties. And your peace is but hanging by the threads of my moods.” 

As to display the finality of his words, the dornish prince took hold of the long braid which held his hair together, flashing the sun shaped pins at the end. And, as the ringing of the trinkets echoed in the room when he threw his braid over his shoulder, the words of house Martell resonated in his head like a warning.

[moral-terpitude]

Hi, Ava! I just finished to read your last chapter (😭🥺) and I decided to jump in here to ask you about Quinn and if you have some headcanons, or ideas or something like that, about her but in 1920s. Like, what about her life a century ago? Her profession, her relationship with Tommy, etc... I'm intrigued. But not pressure, of course!! ❤️

Flor this is usually what I daydream and write little bits of when I need a break from the rest of the story!

(I’m slow moving through my notes this morning while at work but I was thrilled to see your question!)

So, there was a man that was a cobbler/shoe repairer around Waterloo Station in the beginning of the war that started doing tattoos out of his shoe repair shop. He had been in the navy and learned about it in Japan I believe, without looking it all back up again.

So, I don’t know how she ends up in London, but she does. Waterloo Station was one of the areas that soldiers passed through coming home on leave.

I’ll just post the first part of the whole snippet I’ve written instead of summarizing it 😂😂😂

But, here’s a moodboard also, and in similar fashion to Misadventures, the title of it is Selfish Machines, which is also a very good album! (The line of the song in the moodboard is from Caraphernelia, which I probably listen to on a daily basis and had the joy of hearing live with Jeremy McKinnon of A Day to Remember a few years back at a festival)

Waterloo Station, London, 1917

The bell above the door chimed, a man entering the shop as a woman deposited a few coins into the till, blonde curls of hair pressed tight against her scalp and hanging to frame her face, the pieces glimmering as light was reflected from a gold brooch, a singular peacock feather tucked amongst it all.

Tommy Shelby fidgeted with the paper between his fingers, folded in quarters, as the man exited the shop with his freshly repaired shoes.

He was, for a brief moment, under the impression that the signs on the outside of the building had led him astray.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The lilt of her voice was one he was only familiar with from the fairs and races as a child. Tommy remembered vividly attending with his parents, where American men spoke of the Natives they had brought with them as the men stood in proud position, feathered headdresses spread out like strutting peacocks as they children looked up at the men in awe.

“I apologize,” his accent was different from most of the men that Quinn heard talk on a daily basis, one that Mr. Burchett had pointed out to her was from somewhere in the West Midlands, around what they called the Black Country, “the sign outside said something about tattoos. I must have been—“

“No, you’re not mistaken,” she cut him off, gesturing for him to approach the counter where various sheafs of paper littered the workstation, pencil drawings on every one, and a singular one sitting alone was damp with ink, splotches on her fingers as she held out a hand for the paper.

She opened it, studying the simple lines he had drawn on the paper, before her green eyes met his blue ones through her lashes.

“Are you coming or going?”

“Coming or going?” His brow furrowed as he repeated the words back to her.

“Are you home on leave or headed back out—“

“On leave.”

She nodded, pushing up the sleeves of her sweater, the maroon tulle sleeves underneath revealing her forearms to be fully adorned. As Tommy looked closer, he realized all the black beneath the transparent parts of the fabric wasn’t more fabric, but ink in her skin.

Quinn sighed, handing the paper back to him before speaking, “I apologize, Mr. Burchett isn’t in today, he’s dealing with a personal matter, but if you’d like to come back in before you depart, I’m sure he could help you.”

His piercing eyes bore into her for a moment before speaking, “Are you not able to do it?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. This far I’ve only done tattoos on myself,” she held out her left arm, turning it so he could see the artwork that wrapped around it, “I’m not sure—“

“It’s just lines, eh? I'm sure you’ll do fine.”

She smiled, a blush creeping into her cheeks, not much different a shade than her rouged lips before she nodded, “Very well.”

[spymasterspriest]

Chapter 1

The Spymaster & The Priest A role reversal Gwynriel fanfiction

Masterlist, or read the entire series on AO3

Desperately focused on his calligraphy, Azriel took advantage of the huge manuscript before him and the painstaking task of copying it to block out the hyper awareness he had of his surroundings. Leaning in, he filled the vellum with loose, perfect script.

She was here. Again. It was fine, so long as he kept his eyes on the quill, the desk beyond it, the books atop. He refused to be led astray by the shadows dancing atop his broad shoulders. Let them watch, least he not be distracted.

Without looking up and without seeing her, Azriel absorbs himself in the task at hand. His efforts are fruituitous. At least for a few minutes, because then she laughs. The sound warm and joyful as it carried like morning bells across the workshop.

Betrayed by self imposed will, his golden, hazel eyes find the source of the sound and - blessed Mother. 

She’s mid-laugh, face alight with amusement making her hair shine like the gold leaf upon his page. Her mahogany hair was pull back and away from her face, the shade reminding him of the wine the High Priest drank with his super. 

Azriel curses himself. 

Taller than the average high fae, she’s easy to spot - leaning her long willowy frame against the edge of the doorway. The light hugs her in a way that feels intimate, as if its place itself along her fine lines in the most flattering way; purposefully, lovingly. 

The High Priest is trying to shoo her away from the library, presumably toward the offices where they discuss their matters in private. Whatever matter has brought her here again. It’s akin to watching someone attempt to herd a cat about the room. She crosses her arms, emphasizing the lean muscle of her biceps and the feminine curves of her chest. Leaning in, she mutters something to the High Priest.

Her words don’t carry, but Azriel’s shadows pick up on the rumble of her voice and weight of her tone. His mouth goes dry. There are not many who willingly engaged with the Night Court’s spymaster, let alone brave enough to look her in the eye or argue with her. 

Gesturing more emphatically, the High Priest motions her toward the exit. With a heavy sigh, she stands from her casual lean and allows the priest to escort her from the library. Azriel lets loose a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, watching as she turns, long ponytail swaying. 

Her glimmering, teal gaze crashes into his. She knows you’re watching her, his shadows warn, and he freezes like a terrified rabbit. A touch too long, her gaze remains on his long enough to be more stare than glance. Her brow arches at him in silent question. 

Perpetually hovering on a blush at all times, Azriel feels the color rise in his cheeks. At his shameful flush, the spymasters eyebrows climb higher, amused, and she cocks her head at him curiously. For a terrible instant its all worth it, the embarrassment of getting caught starting, as the side of her mouth curls into a smile, light dancing in her gaze. 

Oh Cauldron, he was staring. Why was he still staring? It was embarrassing but Azriel found he didn’t mind terribly. She didn’t seem to be laughing at him, rather finding humor in situation as a whole. The High Priest was motioning for her to follow and she finally pulls away, breaking the spell. 

Half grateful, half cursing the old priest, Azriel attempts to get his breathing back under control. The shadows atop his shoulders have stopped their dancing now that she’s disappeared through the doorway. Dropping his head into his hands, he takes a long moment to refocus his thoughts. How did she always manage to do this to him? With just a glance?

His breathing under control, Azriel reaches for the hot mug of tea carefully placed on a small shelf to the side of his desk, a precautionary measure taken ever since he’d ruined four copies of the illuminated beastiary he’d been assigned in his younger years. Swallowing a long, calming gulp, he sets his mug back down, pulls his shoulders back and stretches his wrists. His quill lay broken up on the desk, snapped in half, which he apparently had done while he’d been staring.

Instead of beating his head against the desk in frustration, though it’s a close call, Azriel tucks his wings tight and clears his throat. He’ll need another writing instrument, though he wasn’t sure how to explain the loss of this one to the library master. 

That night in the dinner hall, he sat amongst his brothers. There were few Illyrian priests. His people’s talents lay elsewhere, not in penmanship and linguistics. While he may not share his race with his brothers, there is the commonality that they were, nearly all, bastard born in some variety.

”Do you know what the High Lord’s spymaster is doing here?” He asked the priest nearest him, keeping his tone casual. 

Tonight was not a night for silent, self reflection. He rarely spoke at dinner and his question melts into the hum of a hundred-odd priests chatting quietly about their days. Though the conversation mostly skewed in the direction of the new kitchen rotation and the quality of their efforts.

“I’ve heard rumor she’s a light singer,” Brother Jan chimes in from down the table. “The High Priest is wary of her, but they say our High Lord trusts her emphatically.”

”They say she’s blessed by the Cauldron. She’s starborn,” another spoke up.

”I’ve heard she’s secretly a villain, here to lure us all into some trap!”

”Do you really think she’s a light singer? Aren’t they dangerous?”

”She trains with the General Commander. Her possibly being a light singer isn’t the only thing that makes her dangerous.”

”Lord Cassian?”

”Lord of Bloodshed, you mean.”

Down the table an enthusiastic group of young priests began regaling stories of the General’s past victories. Azriel knew them all well. Lord Cassian was renowned for his strategic victories and brutality. He’d stayed up many nights reading about the Illyrian General, always with a sense of pride. 

“They say she fought alongside the Valkyries during the Great War,” another continued, voice squeaky and broken. “That she’s unmatched in combat.”

”I find her incredibly distracting,” Brother Balthor snorted, snatching a piece of bread from the center of the table. His face was obscured by the robe’s hood. The rest of the table grumbles in agreement. 

“She’s here on the High Lord’s business,” a young priest admitted finally, face flushed red.

“That can’t be good.”

”Blessed Mother, save us.”

”What business does the High Lord’s spymaster have in the library?”

”I wonder,” Azriel starts after clearing his throat, keeping his voice tightly controlled and free of emotion. “I wonder if-“

The High Priest stands from the head table, signaling evening announcements. Azriel didn’t have the chance to finish voicing his thoughts or gathering more information from his brothers. 

Evening activities kept him busy enough that his mind was quiet, no longer distracted by the spymaster. With the library prepped for tomorrows work, he made his way back tot he dormitories. The chiming of bells echoed, bouncing off the walls, releasing the Tower priests of their day’s responsibilities. Blissful quiet yawned before him, stretching down the hall until he was closing the door to his room. 

He allowed himself a groan of mental anguish, his shadows stretching out into the room beyond. Grateful for the dark, he approached the small basin beneath the room’s sole window. As he closes his eyes to wash up, he can see her charmingly wicked smile and those sea colored eyes. A growling hunger gnaws at his ribs despite his fullness from dinner. Usually he could ignore this hunger, but he found it increasingly difficult of late, especially when he was thinking of her.

It had been two years and twenty one days since he’d last seen the spymaster. Azriel wondered if she remembered him, covered in blood, her screams…

Shadows swirled around him, a numbing cold against his skin, shocking him from the memories of that day. He hadn’t even known her name then.

She appeared in the doorways of the Tower library from time to time, smelling like a sunny day, apple blossoms, and salted sea air. It drove him to maddening distraction. Just as he felt a restoration in th equilibrium of his life, she would show up again, sauntering through the library. Any semblance of calm smashed by his racing heart. 

It was ridiculous. The spymaster didn’t even know he existed. His shadows gave him no warnings of her arrivals - completely unheard of! He was aware of every movement in the Tower and every being, creature from the priests who vowed silence and moved as softly as she did, to the dark power that hid in every spider infested corner of the library. 

She looked at you today. His shadows pressed against his skin. She looked at you and smiled. Not even the High Priest has received one of those. 

“No one smiles at the High Priest,” he argues. “Smiling is just premeditated mischief.”

That’s not the point. You’re being deliberately aloof. She smiled at you. You watch her more closely than anyone here. You know this.

“I do not,” Azriel grumbled furiously. “I just- I’m curious as to why she’s here, which requires the use of my ears and eyes. It has nothing to do with-“

Oh, yes. You stare at her face, and legs, and chest, the dirty little traitors sing. You think about leaving the Tower with her and seeing the world. You dream about running your hands through her hair. You even wonder what she would feel like if you-

”Stop,” he demanded, command in his tone that the shadows couldn’t ignore. “We’re not continuing this conversation.”

Azriel plopped down upon his narrow bed, face pressed into the soft mattress. The heat in his cheeks begins to wane. 

Fine. His shadows smooth against him, relaxing around his body as fatigue begins to weigh Azriel down. But, his shadows reply snidely, if its not like that - why are you hard right now?

Fuck. 

Tucking his wings, Azriel rolls onto his back, unearthing his face so that he could stare at the ceiling. Inhaling deeply, he fills his lungs to the point of pain before exhaling. It was a natural part of being male, healthy, and functioning. It wasn’t like priests weren’t allowed their vices. He had his own. It had just never been… enough. 

If he just mediated, took his sleeping tonic, he’d likely be able to sleep. Azriel cursed. He would need further distraction. 

Cautiously, Azriel lifted his head from the bed, expanding his hearing to the shadows that stretched across the floor and beyond. The High Priest was still awake in his office, but not within a threatening distance. 

Azriel reached beneath his pillow and extracts the sheathed blade and book hidden there. He tucks the knife back after a long look and slides the book toward him. Curling himself into a ball, he rests on his side and opens the worn cover. 

He doesn’t need the light - shadows and the dark hide nothing from him, not even the words scribed onto these pages. Azriel runs his scarred fingertips gently over the softened vellum, the ink faded after all these years, and lets himself feel a bit of nostalgia, even if tiny. This was his mothers book. The only thing he dare keep of hers. 

As a child, Azriel had been kept away from her. His mother’s husband was not Azriel’s biological father, a fact that he and his mother were never allowed to forget. Her husband and his brothers had been cruel, locking him away in a dark cell, refusing him flight, scarring him. His mother hadn’t escaped their abuse either. 

At the age of eight, they’d dumped him on the steps of the temple in Sangravah. He’d poured himself into his studies, intent on becoming a priest. Once he had the ear of the High Priest, he could advocate for his mother, keep her safe, hidden away where she could live in peace. 

To help make that dream possible, he’d taken on side jobs in the city, transcribing old tomes and teaching the less affluent how to read and write. An immense amount of pride swelled in his chest at the thought. Azriel had put away a tidy bit of money, eventually allowing himself to buy a home to set her up in. 

As a priest in Sangravah he’d visited her often. In fact, he’d been with her two years ago when Hyburn’s forces had attacked, when he’d felt driven back to the temple by shadow and dark influence, her screams sounding in his head… 

Flipping through the book in his hands, Azriel pushed away all thought, diving into the old war stories from before the Great War. He settled into the mattress, blankets pillowed around him, and read the adventures of others. Deep in the secret, dark part of his soul, he wondered what it might be like to have some of his own. 

[thelittlestancient]

Angels Astray: Hephtemi Cyberpunk AU, 2/?

Part 0 (Worldbuilding) Part 1

Content Warnings for this section: Brief description of injuries to a bot.

"Hmm, well." Bright yellow-gold eyes pin Hephaistos where he stands. "You're prepared for a dangerous run?"

Hephaistos gestures down at the taur body, metal form acid-etched with the trophy-marks of his most treacherous runs. "That's what I built this for, not fencing gears to clockmakers."

"With my tools, no less. Very well. He's of fine enough manufacture that I don't want to put salvaged joints in him, so I'll need the raw materials from which to cut new parts. Gold, to repair the damaged circuitry. You probably know more about the biologics side than I do, though I've plenty of the mesh to grow new skin on. The memory chip will be the hard part--your best bet would be to raid a dead Walker platform."

Hephaistos laughs. "Good luck on that. I hear the one that went down near Chicago last month didn't last an hour before everything of value was picked over. Would an arco's chip work?"

The chopper's pale eyebrows nearly find his hairline. "You must have powerful friends, if you think you can get your hands on one of those. But yes, it certainly would work. Bring me that chip along with the rest, and I'll do the work. A deal's a deal." He offers out his hand. "And I will be asking questions, if you pull off what you intend. I must sate my curiosity somehow."

Hephaistos shakes his hand. "A deal's a deal," he says, sealing the matter. "If I'm not back in two weeks, bot's yours, as is everything else I've got. If nothing else, he'll make a good assistant for you. You know where it all is." His gaze lingers a last, long moment over the form laying on the table: nearly hairless, skin hanging from the frame in jagged strips, vacant gaze lightless.

Lifeless.

Pulling himself away, he offers a wave as he steps out from the garage into the street, the sun's light rendered anemic by its long journey down through the metal-and-concrete canyons formed by the massive buildings. A few hours' sleep wouldn't be uncalled for, he thinks, and the cover of darkness will make the border crossing--the first of several on the journey ahead--far easier.

[deathbind]

BASICS.

VEIL NAME: Serot Binu Napaut SPIRIT NAME: Refhremmit SOBRIQUET(S): The Saint Eternal; the Deathless Saint; the Shepherd of Souls; Beetle Lord TITLE(S): Hegemon of the Anactaci; Spiritual Advisor to the Monarch of Meket RACE: Human NATIONALITY: Meketi ETHNICITY: Meketi RELIGION: Soshist BORN: -351 DR / REBORN: 1490 DR GENDER: Demi man (he / they) ORIENTATION: Panromantic pansexual

STATS*. *as of lvl 12

STRENGTH: 8 DEXTERITY: 16 (+1) CONSTITUTION: 14 INTELLIGENCE: 20 (+2) WISDOM: 12 CHARISMA: 11

CLASS, FEATS, ETC.

LINEAGE: Reborn BACKGROUND: Spirit Medium CLASS: Sha'ir (Ghul Lord); will eventually respec to Anactaci (Aritas) DARK GIFT: Echoing Soul FEAT(S): Linguist (Meketi, Midani, Common, Celestial, Abyssal, Infernal)

PERSONALITY.

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good MBTI: ENFJ (Protagonist) ENNEAGRAM: 1w9 (Idealist) TEMPERAMENT: Phlegmatic FLAME: Sun

APPEARANCE.

FACE: Rectangular in shape with a defined jaw and overbite HAIR: Raven black with strands of silver; loosely curling, typically cut short EYES: Honey brown in color; round and wide, framed by straight lashes SKIN: Bronze toned, embellished with laugh lines and crow's feet SCAR(S): A moderately thick scar cutting through the right side of his lips; a slash across his chest down to the abdomen TATTOO(S): A rayed eye on the forehead (originally indigo, now luminous gold); a luminous golden band around the left ring finger; an indigo lotus on the throat; an indigo scarab on either palm; three indigo lines between the right eye and ear HEIGHT: 5'7" BUILD: Decidedly average, perhaps verging on trim; the build of a scholar, not warrior MISCELLANEOUS: A line of luminous golden runes across his throat where a knife might run if it was slit

BIOGRAPHY.

I'll put links to write-ups on Serot's other lifetimes here once I write them up.

OVER A THOUSAND YEARS AGO, a famine swept the young nation of Meket. Kheprer, strange beetles from the Negative Energy Plane, had somehow crossed over. They burrowed into the rich, black soil and sucked the very life from it. Though they moved slowly, they were indomitable, and their corruption was nearly impossible to cleanse. Crops failed, livestock withered, and people starved. Some said it was a punishment from the One Above for the death of the One Below. Other said it was a punishment from the One Below for going astray. Others still labeled it a conspiracy of this group or that. Whatever their origin, one thing was clear: they would quickly be Meket's ruin.

Serot was no more than a boy when they appeared. He belonged to a massive family, even by Meketi standards. Twenty siblings, forty-nine maternal relations, and nineteen paternal — all living as closely as possible. He loved it. But, the famine made it nearly impossible for them to feed everyone. No one wanted to part, but the alternative was starvation. The youngest children were fostered by relations or close neighbors. Those old enough to care for themselves found they must do so, though family made arrangements where possible.

Serot fell into the latter category. He was twelve years old when he found himself apprenticed to a ghul lord. As the death toll rose past what Meket could manage, so too did the restless dead. There were none better equipped to address this problem than ghul lords, whose number were then too few to meet demand. A few particularly skilled individuals were even able to ward off the kheprer (though nothing could be done once they had struck). His mistress was one such individual. He traveled with her across the country, learning the craft through practical application.

Whether by raw talent, firm dedication, or a combination of both, he proved uncommonly adroit. He innovated as he learned, thinking always of a way to end the famine and return to his family. Within eight years, he had managed it. The kheprer were creatures of negative energy. Manipulating that energy allowed him to command them. There was a limit to how many he could command and how he could direct them — he was yet young, after all — but it was the turning point.

Monarch Meresankh took notice. All resources were placed at his disposal to rid Meket of this menace. His first act was to trace the origin of these creatures as near as he could. They had burst from the earth in a small farming village, overwhelming the inhabitants and reducing it to a ghost town in a matter of days. No one had been brave enough to enter since. Serot set about investigating the ruins and questioning the dead. But, he did so with uncommon compassion. He squared away any unfinished business or promised to. He prepared their bodies and buried them with respect. He gave them peace in their deathly torment.

It was this that caught the eye of Refhremmit. The spirit of that small land was the only being left to mourn them. Though sickly themself with the kheprer's rot, they honored the dead who, in life, had honored them. They communicated with Serot at first indirectly. They led him to particular places, sent him signs, gave him tests, watched him. Satisfied as to his character, they finally entered his dreams. An agreement was made. If he would lead the kheprer there, Refhremmit would lend their power to bind them. There was no guarantee it would work, but it was their only chance.

Serot then set out to gather every willing ghul lord. Together, they shepherded the kheprer toward the town, and there they were bound. Not gone but finally contained. Priests came behind to cleanse the land and get food growing again. It would take time to heal from the damage, but at least it had become possible. Serot was appointed the Spiritual Advisor to Monarch of Meket, and became a living legend.

His experiences during the famine and its aftermath had shaped him, however. Particularly the loss of his family who, by the time he was able to return, were dead or scattered. He founded the Anactaci: an order of priestly necromancers who would shepherd the dead, comfort the living, and commune with all souls and spirits. He broke ground on the first and grandest City of Eternity, which would house the dead, over the ruins of Refhremmit's town, and the kheprer were set as eternal tomb guardians.

But, the deeper Serot delved into this work, the more his health suffered. It was not merely stress that affected him but the Negative Energy Plane itself. The more he called on it, the more it drained his life. Refhremmit attempted to help him counter this by deepening their bond, twining them closer til they were almost indistinguishable, but even that could only do so much. Finally, Refhremmit proposed that Serot should truly join with them. Let their spirits merge. Let Serot be freed from earthly trials. Together, they would guard the Cities of Eternity and shepherd souls onto the afterlife. This would mean his death, but he was already dying. What sweeter rest than that in the arms of one who loved you well? In a ritual combining both marital and funerary rites, he gave himself to Refhremmit.

The outcome was not what they had anticipated. Rather than merge, they were tethered. Serot's soul was unable to pass on. Instead, he was reincarnated repeatedly throughout the ensuing centuries. He has been every combination of gender identity, social class, profession, fortune imaginable. Sometimes famous, sometimes obscure, sometimes tragic, sometimes triumphant: the only true constant has been Refhremmit.

As Refhremmit has accompanied all of his lives, so have they accompanied all of his deaths. At last, they exerted all of their power over the bond to affect the cycle of reincarnation. It could not be broken but Serot could be reborn. In the body from his first life (with only a few alterations) and all the grave goods Refhremmit deemed necessary, he awoke blinking beneath the Faerûnian sun.

Alas there is always a catch. He remembers he is from Meket on the continent of Zakhara. He remembers he is (was?) a member of the Anactaci. He remembers a cool voice calling him Serot. All else is hazy. He was nabbed by the Nautiloid shortly after and infested with a tadpole. As he seeks to unravel the mystery of the Absolute, he must likewise unravel the mystery of his identity.

[boldlygreatsuit]

I adore the “horse and the infant” form the musical epic and I couldn’t help but think it’d make an awesome techno origin story. Sorry I’m not a writer but if anyone reading this is please feel free to take this idea

Phil’s sword pierced through the chest of the tyrant king, black blood poured from the wounds as his massive body collapsed to the ash covered netherrack.

The tyrant ruled over the nether with an iron fist and had recently turned his attention to the over world, he used dark blood magic to twist his form into a horrific amalgamation of a piglin and the wither. The war was long and lasted years before the overworld king had sent his best soldier, his angel of death, Philza.

Phil looked over to the battlefield that still raged on behind him before turning his attention to the bastion. He smiled as he grabbed the blood red cape of the tyrant before walking in to the hold.

As he ventured further into the black stone structure, easily dispatching any of the Remaining soldiers brave enough or stupid enough to charge him.

“The real fight for you still lies ahead” the voice whispered, Phil winced as XD spoke but he took no notice to his sudden presence by phils side. “You’re not ready, you have never fought anyone like this before”

The winged man glared over his shoulder at him the god and huffed a shallow laugh “please, I know that I’m more then ready so please lead the way” gesturing for the god to show him where this great foe was. As they walked Phil could hear the sound of his men finishing off the dead kings army, it was until they stopped did he realize that XD had lead him to a tall door in the deepest heart of the bastion. Philza drew his sword once again as he strode forwards to the elaborate black stone door, there was gold imbedded in the frame work; it was much more delicate then most piglin architecture but he’s seen weirder things in this hell hole.

When Phil entered the room, sword out, wings flared; he expected a fight, some towering behemoth ready to attack, the last twisted attempt of victory for nether kings empire.

Silence, he was instead met with a neatly arranged empty room that was almost silent aside from the roar of the battle from outside the walls. Phil walked in and surveyed the space.

Where was the enemy? What was he supposed to even fight?

As he turned to accuse XD of leading him astray he froze as he heard a noise from the far corner of the room, he looked and saw a Basset gently rocking and a soft cooing coming from it.

Phil felt ice cold terror as he made the realization of what XD was telling him to do, he didn’t even notice himself approach the basket as he looked in.

An infant, a piglin but still only a babe. As he reached down and scooped up the child he didn’t even hear the sound of his sword clattering to the ground before he turned to look at the god.

“This is just a babe? Just a little boy?” He uttered “what kind of immediate threat does he pose that I can not avoid?” Phil questioned as he looked up at XD as the god approached.

[battlexworned]

📼

Few days have passed since his forging. Because of his many qualities revealed and acquisition of an alternate mode in such short notice, the young spark was given the name of Ironhide. A cybertronian who’s steel was impeccable, capable of challenging a dozen warriors. He was the embodiment of a fortress, strong and powerful who’s walls can never be breached.

His mentor, Procyon, was impressed by his development. As a result, he wasted no time to mold Ironhide further. He sought to keep Ironhide secluded in his ship, free from all distractions or bad influences. He will train the young spark as the perfect soldier. A commander at his side, someone who can be far greater. Far greater than her.

Inside Procyon’s ship, the two were down the halls walking towards the training room. Ironhide was slowly falling behind, distracting himself by the halls’ decor. Despite his little achievements, he has yet to remove his protoform colors. His bright optics scanned the ambiance around him, inspecting every single detail, every corridor- and every window.

Like any sparkling, Ironhide was bound to loose himself in curiosity. And it happened every time he caught the sight of a window. To him, they were impenetrable portals who showcased the outside world. The outside world being the dazzling, violet city of Praxus.

This time it was no different, Ironhide’s frame moved in instinct, slowly approaching the window and placed a servo on the glass; his spark overflowed with desires, one in particular, was to explore that very city beneath the ship. To see what it had in store, what kind of people it had, to—

“ Ironhide, you are diverted, again. “

Procyon’s helm didn’t need to move in order to know that Ironhide was moving astray. All he needed to do was firm his tone and the young spark would listen.

“ …oh. “

Ironhide wasn’t the type to talk, at least not yet. So all he could manage to let out from his vocalizer were simple phrases or short sentences. Which was fine for Procyon, soldiers are only worth for their strength and loyalty, not speech.

The young spark had let go of the window, soon after sprinting for a short second to catch up with his mentor. However, despite being away from the portal of glass, Ironhide’s curiosity still remained.

“ Praxus. When can we go? “

“ When your training is complete, Ironhide. “

“ …too long. “

“ Ah, little lights, so impatient. Don’t let that fester in your processor, young one. Good soldiers move forward, they’re not swayed by pointless pleasures. “

Ironhide’s expression formed a frown, that answer didn’t satisfy him in the slightest. Procyon’s rule didn’t made sense at all. He had seen plenty of soldiers under Procyon’s command leave the ship and come back. If they can do that, why couldn’t he? What is it about pointless pleasures?

They were near their destination, but Ironhide came to a halt once more when his optics caught a mural on the hall’s walls. The moment he saw it, his spark shook.

The mural was that of an individual, one who Ironhide has never seen before. An individual of black, red and gold color scheme. They had two pairs of arms who’s servos held weapons and other tools Ironhide failed to recognize or understand. They seemed like someone powerful, someone of great authority, someone- of comfort?

Ironhide wasn’t sure, but those colors, the aura the mural emanated; it was all strangely familiar.

Procyon stopped once he felt the same occurrence, and this time he turned his helm to see just what Ironhide was distracted about again— …oh.

“ who this? “

Of course the young one had asked, Procyon’s 3 optics shined bright with hidden frustration. However, with a few seconds of clarity, he simply replied as he approached Ironhide. His servo placed on the young’s spark’s shoulder.

“ …nobody, Ironhide. Just a mere character. “

“ but- “

Ironhide’s question will never come to exist, as Procyon used the servo he moved to urge the young spark to follow and stay by his side at all times, now. Which was both an unexpected and a… uncomfortable action for Ironhide. Both cybertronians learned something new today:

For Ironhide’s case, he learned that there will be truths hiding away from him, and that Procyon was willing to partake in that obstruct for- whatever reason.

As for Procyon, he was reminded to remove every speck of the filth. Including that mural.

[chitocerium]

RG Gold Frame Amatsu Mina // Gundam Astray