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inky-duchess · 9 months

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Asks for a Royal WIP or a Royal AU.

What rank is your OC?

How are they addressed?

Do they always expect to be addressed formally at all times? Are they comfortable with it?

Where do they stand in the succession? How do they feel about this?

What sort of succession system is it? Agnatic? Primogeniture? Gender-biased?

What sort of monarchy does your OC belong to? Do they like this style?

What's your OC's opinion on Monarchy? Do they believe in it? Are they for or against? Reasons why?

How did the dynasty come to be?

What is the dynasty known for? Are they bloody like the Tudors? Are they fabulously wealthy like the Romanovs? Are they... A loving family like the Hapsburgs? *opening twangs of Sweet Home Alabama*

Is the dynasty old? Or new? How does this effect how they operate?

Are they traditionalists or modernise?

What do the people think of the royal family? Are they headed toward Monseiur Guillotine? Or treasured?

Is there a famous ancestor they look up to? One they would rather not speak about?

Are there any pretenders to the Crown? If so, who are they and why do they believe they have a right to the throne?

What are some monuments built by the dynasty?

What are some duties your OC is expected to perform? Military service? The bestowing of honours? Attending the monarch at large events?

Does your OC dislike living in the public eye? Or do they believe it's part of the job?

Where does your OC live?

How many palaces, castles and homes does your OC call home?

Has your OC ever been on a tour of their country? What's their favourite region?

How does your OC view politics? Are they a reformer or do they prefer to hide from change?

Your OC has a day engagement. What do they wear?

Your OC has a state occasion. What do they wear?

Does your OC enjoy ceremonial ornaments such as orders, tiaras, uniforms and crowns? If not, why? If so, why?

Do they enjoy large public occasions? Do they enjoy the pomp and ceremony?

Somebody has neglected to bow/curtsy in an effort to insult. What does your OC do in response?

They encounter somebody who doesn't recognise them but they are friendly. Does your OC a) immediately inform them b) leave them off and just have a nice chat c) other option.

Are they known for their fashion taste?

Does your OC do any charity work? What are some charities they support?

How does the press characterize your OC? Are they a darling or a devil?

Your OC has been the target of some bad press. What to they do to straighten out the story?

Has your OC ever escaped the palace for an adventure?

What are some famous pieces of jewellery owned by the royal family?

How does jewellery work in the family? Who can wear what pieces? Who decides this?

Do they have servants? Is your OC liked by the servants? If not, why?

Are they close to anybody who isn't royal? A servant? A companion?

Does your OC ever hate being born royal?

Are there any restrictions on them because they are royal? Can they marry as they like? Live how they want? Is there anything they are utterly barred from doing?

What are some expectations your OC must live up to? Can they fulfil them? If not, why not?

What are some ridiculous rules they must follow?

How rigid is royal life?

What privileges are they entitled to?

How does being royal effect how they act? Are they predisposed to snobbery? Or do they believe themselves above others?

Have they ever had a scandal? If so, details.

What is your OC known for? Their hardwork? Their duty? Their wild social life?

If your OC ever had to choose between what's best for the Crown or themselves, what would they choose?

If they are ever offered the chance of power, would they oust the monarch?

If the monarch was in danger of running the country into the ground, would your OC rebel against them?

There's a revolution and everyone wants the royals dead. What does your OC do? A) Join the Revolution B) RUN C) Stay and keeping living the high life (god that mob is getting close) D) Betray their family and give them to the mob to save themselves.

Your OC has been invited to a large party on the eve of a very bad disaster which has killed and wounded many. Do they attend the party? Or head to the site to help or at very least show they care?

I will accept asks for Misha, Olezka, Katya, Sergei.

#OC ask game #Royal OC ask game #Royal ocs #Royal au #OC asks #Royal #writing #writeblr #writing resources #writing reference #writing advice #writer #spilled words #writers

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bloodstainedsaint · 10 months

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loose lips sink ships (lewis nixon x medic! reader)

summary: lewis nixon's alcoholism has been getting worse. you, a medic of easy company, are responsible for the well-being of the men, so you're sent to babysit look after an inebriated lew.

word count: 2100+

warnings: pathetic attempts (multiple) at comedy, drinking, alcoholism, drunken love confessions, lil pining, lil angst, nixon being a lil shit and a cheater??? but his wife divorces him so idk

notes: sorry if this is sloppy 😭 writing dialogue is hard

Your first time speaking to Captain (actually, you weren't sure of his rank anymore— you'd heard he'd gotten demoted to Battalion S3 by Colonel Sink recently) Lewis Nixon was after Operation Market Garden, where he got lightly burned by a stray shot to his helmet. You recalled it going something like this:

“You’re lucky to be alive, sir,” you said at the aid station where the then Lieutenant Winters had sent Nixon to get his graze checked, though there was really no use for it.

“I sure feel lucky,” he responded with a weird, almost dazed stare at you, as if you were some kind of angel sent from heaven to save him from his minor injury.

You met his eyes with a slightly raised eyebrow and assumed that he was just coming to terms with his brush with death. “You'll be fine, sir. Just try not to be in the trajectory of any other stray bullets, and you'll stay that way.”

He nodded and procured a flask from his pocket. “You drink?”

You narrowed your eyes at the container. “I try not to on the job.”

“Well, cheers to being alive, then,” he said, taking a swig.

“...Cheers.”

Following that encounter, you found yourself worrying about the officer more than you thought was normal— if a medic being especially troubled over one soldier was normal at all. Your eyes would search for him in a sea of people to see how tired or hungover he appeared. Whenever you got a chance to talk to him, you would brew him coffee or tea to help with his hangovers, seeing as medicine was always scarce and never spare enough to freely hand out.

You weren't sure where your worry for his well-being came from, but whatever it was, it wasn't quelled by the way he would ask you to stay and chat while he finished his cup— if you weren't busy, of course. The wry grin he would occasionally flash at you was burned into your mind, and his sardonic wit along with his competence as an officer, regardless of his love for alcohol, was impressed upon you. In these fleeting moments of peace, you learned of his rather privileged upbringing, his military background, and that he had a family waiting for him back home. Despite not even knowing what your own intentions were getting close to him, when he told you that last fact, your heart sank a little in your chest.

Your concern for him grew with the recent news that his alcoholism had reared its head again while the company was sent to idly occupy Germany. Someone had broken into a drugstore earlier that week; you'd suspected it was Lew scrounging around for booze. Though the war was coming to an end, he’d been looking more exhausted and ill-tempered as of late. You had yet to really talk to him about how he was holding up; in the meantime, you had been eyeing him from afar, trying to gauge where he was physically and mentally, your heart breaking at how you rarely saw him smile or laugh anymore. Everyone in the company had changed after Bastogne, but you suspected it was his disastrous third combat jump that prompted him to hit the bottle this time.

Now in Landsberg, you were in the middle of playing cards with some of the men in your billet’s living room when Major Winters knocked on the doorway.

“(Y/N),” he called. “Could I speak with you?”

You placed your cards on the table face up, presenting your good hand to the men who groaned in unison at the sight. “Coming, sir.”

As Winters brought you down the hall, you pondered what could be so important that the Major would come personally to speak to you, of all people.

He stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to you, seeming to have read your mind. “It's about Nixon.”

Your eyebrows creased slightly in concern. “Oh. Nixon.”

“Yeah, you know him?” Winters offered a dry smile that you returned.

“What happened?”

“I'm worried about him. Ever since his jump with the 17th Airborne, he’s been drinking more than usual.”

You sighed and cast your eyes downward. “I've heard.”

“I’d like you to look after him for a while. For tonight, at least. Make sure he doesn't drink himself into a coma.”

“Me?” You looked back up at him. “Why not Doc Roe?”

“You’ve been taking care of him for a while, (Y/N). I've noticed.” He didn't sound accusing in the slightest, yet you felt your cheeks warm from embarrassment. Winters continued in a slightly more conspiratorial voice, “And Nix asked for you specifically.”

You fought the blush creeping up to your ears. “Is that right…I'll, uh, have to lord that over Eugene.”

The corner of Winters’ lips quirked up knowingly. “Of course.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder. “Good luck, Doc. He's in his room. You know how to get there.”

Winters turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway. It was true that you knew which house he was quartered in; you made it a point to know ever since you began treating his hangovers. However, the thought of being alone with Lew was always nerve-wracking and had been from the start, for reasons you didn't have the courage to explore.

With a glass of water and a book in hand, anticipating him to be knocked out from all the liquor in his system, you knocked on the door to his room. As you expected, there was no response save for the soft snoring coming from within. You opened the door a sliver and found the floral-wallpapered room lit up with a bedside lamp and the moonlight pouring in from the open window as the day spanned into night. You spotted a messy-haired head poking out from under the strewn blankets and smelled whiskey in the air. Upon fully opening the door and entering the room, the snoring abruptly stopped. He slurred, half-muffled by the pillow his face was buried in, “Who's there?”

“It’s (Y/N),” you replied, turning on some more lamps around the space.

“Oh. Hey, (Y/N).” Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. It wasn’t the first time you'd seen him in just a tanktop and shorts, his dog tags dangling around his neck, but he had always been half-conscious from a hangover when you saw him like this. Not awake and actively drunk like he was now. “How're you?”

“You're on your way to liver failure, Lewis,” you said sternly as you pulled up a chair next to his bed. “As for me, I'm doing better than you right now.”

He pouted petulantly. “You only call me Lewis when you're mad at me.”

You shot him a look. “And why would I be mad at you?”

“I dunno, you tell me.” Nixon gave you a lazy smile.

You sighed, directing your glare to the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, which you observed was not even his favorite brand of Vat 69. You handed him the glass of water. “Here, drink up.”

Squinting, he sniffed it. “It's not more liquor, is it?”

“No, it's motor fuel, now drink.”

“Oh no, not more ethanol,” he joked, raising the glass in a cheers motion before downing it and clumsily setting the empty glass on the nightstand. He kept his gaze on you as you sat down, opened up your book, and attempted to read, avoiding his stare.

Crossing his arms behind his neck at your efforts to ignore him, he leaned on the headboard. “What is that? Twain? Poe? Ah, Shakespeare? ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’”

You spared a glance at him. “Sometimes I forget you're a scholar, Lew.”

“Ohoho. Try to play some Beethoven and tell me it's Mozart. I’ll figure it out”—he snaps—“like that.”

“Not in this state you will,” you glowered. Nix retained his expectant countenance, so you answered, “It's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Some of the guys got done reading it, so now it's my turn.”

He hummed. “What’s it about then, Miss (Y/N)? Enlighten me.”

“If you’d let me read it, then I could tell you,” you said, continuing in a lower voice, "How are you an intelligence officer if you're this mouthy when drunk...and you're drunk most of the time."

“You say somethin’?”

“Nothing, Lew.” You tried to take in the words on the page, but the way he was looking at you made your skin feel hot. Exhaling and setting down your book, you turned your focus to him.

“You still hiding Vat 69 in Winters’ footlocker?” you asked, silently cursing the satisfied expression that spread over his face at your attention.

“Wha, hey, how'd you know about that?”

“You told me. While half-asleep and hungover.”

His lips stretched into a smile as he seemed to recall. “That I did. See, the real shame is that there’s not a single drop of the thing in the whole damn country. So no, there’s no booze in Dick’s footlocker.”

You glanced again at the unfamiliar bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. “And that’s why you've been drinking alternatives?”

“Beggars can't be choosers.” He shrugged with a sluggish wave of the hand. “I'm half-convinced you and Dick are hiding some from me!”

You chuckled. “That's not a half-bad idea. It wouldn't stop you from getting drunk off other kinds of hooch, though. Speaking of… why'd you start drinking this time?”

“Oh, you know.” He gestured vaguely. “I got divorced. She sent me a letter in the mail. Real sweet of her.”

Your face fell, the mood suddenly not so lighthearted. “...I’m sorry to hear that, Nix.”

“It’s alright. Didn’t like her much anyway. She took the dog.” A beat of silence passed, and he gave you an unreadable look. “Was kinda waitin' for it anyhow.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. Waiting for it? But before you could question it, you noticed his eyelids drooping as he uncrossed his arms from behind his neck to cover a yawn with his hands. You figured it was better to let him rest before pressing him on it.

“You settling down now?” you asked, getting up to brush his unkempt hair from his face and check his temperature with the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” he murmured. He settled into his bed before tiredly swatting your hand away, complaining, “I’m not hungover yet!”

A slight smile graced your face. “Not gonna piss into a cup this time, are you?”

“Maybe next time,” he said with a smirk before blearily staring at you for a while, like the same way he did all those months ago in Holland. Your heart felt strangled in your chest.

Clearing your throat, you turned and grabbed your book and the glass. “Goodnight, Lew.”

He blinked up at you. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ve got people who need me,” you said, a small laugh bubbling up from your throat.

“What if I need you?”

“Beside a hangover, you'll be fine,” you smiled, believing he was joking until you looked at him and found his face dead serious, almost pleading. Your eyes had to be deceiving you, right? Or maybe your mind was spinning things the wrong way.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “Before you leave," he started, breaking his gaze for a second before meeting yours. "You're really beautiful, you know that?”

You were stunned into silence with widened eyes, floundering for words. “Lew, I…”

“And don't say, ‘You’re drunk, Lewis, you don't know what you're talking about.’ I’ve liked you for months now, (Y/N). Sometimes it feels like I'm fighting this war for you, so we could be together after.” Somehow his voice was the steadiest it’s been the entire night, and that scared you.

You suddenly felt bashful, afraid he could hear your heart pounding loud in your chest. “I…like you, too, Lew.”

A soft beam adorned his flushed face. “And if I forget in the morning, I’ll just tell you again. I’ll tell you over and over until it's the only thing I can remember piss-drunk.”

“I’ll be making sure you're never piss-drunk again, but… I’ll remind you. Keep your word.” You leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“That you will,” he said impishly, grabbing you from around the waist and pulling you next to him in the sheets, his arms encircling your body.

“Hey!” you giggled, struggling against his bear-like grasp. “Can I at least get my boots off?”

He snickered into your hair and held you close.

“Nope.”

Bonus:

A couple of hours had passed, and there was no sign of Doc (Y/N). Figuring she was still with Nix, Dick decided to check in on them.

Knocking on the door and receiving no response, he let himself in, saying while surveying the room, “Doc, you still there— Oh.”

taglist: @mads-weasley

#band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon #hbo war #easy company #101st airborne #ron livingston #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war fanfic #dick winters #richard winters #band of brothers imagine

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crushedsweets · 1 year

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i'm so obsessed w your blog you really unlocked all the nostalgia that's always waiting under the surface frfr i hope you send me spiraling all the way down again i miss it here so bad. anyway can i ask. what u got on... jane my beloved... sowwy if there's already like. posts abt it i'll go thru your whole blog someday and learn everything like my uni books xx

ok some quick warm up doodles this morning to go with the chat i got... tw for torture, stalking, really sad stuff.

link to my au that has a page with her in it

ok to start off with, jane/liu aren't TOO present in my story because jane and liu live really normal lives. most of their personal story is about recovery and growth, they were victims not aggressors. they're more involved in ninas story, rather than the overarching slender/operator paranormal problems...

jane grew up in an upper middle class household with incredibly loving parents. she was majoring in criminal psychology and lived with her parents, since they were close to the uni. it was during her second year in university that jeff began stalking her. he'd leave dead animals on her doorstep, light fires in her garbage cans, shatter windows without even entering the house, key her car, leave cryptic writings on her car that say stuff like '1f' (1female) to further scare her.

it wasn't that there was anything special about jane, but she had a super easy, very strict schedule to follow. her uni classes were all in the same building at the time, her car had a few cute stickers and decorations on/in her car that made it easy to spot, she only worked sat-mon at a cafe near her university. she was a happy person. easy victim he thought

eventually, while jane was out, he broke into her home and assaulted her parents. whether he used drugs or just stabbed them in the right place to make them immobile idk, but he got them tied up in the kitchen at some point. he was torturing them, doing the typical carved out smile bullshit, and he planned on leaving them for jane to find that night -- but, for the first time, her schedule was different. she came home from work while he was drenching the house in gasoline.

he panicked upon hearing her absolutely gutwrenching scream and quickly lit the trail of gasoline while she was trying to untie her dad (her mom was long gone by this point, her dad was barely managing a few wheezed breathes). he went to go finish jane off. he slashed her face, from her right temple, down her cheek, splitting her mouth in half and getting down to her left jaw. but the fire was spreading way faster than he anticipated, and he already heard sirens, so he bolted.

jane suffered 3rd degree burns covering her entire right leg and arm, it reached up her neck and her face, alongside some other parts of her body. she was pulled out of the fire, rushed to the hospital, and barely managed to survive.

jane had some outside family to support her, but her biggest supporter was her friend from middleschool mary vaugn. she moved into mary's house, took a semester off of school for recovery. the second she felt physically able to, she tried to drive herself right back into school, regardless of her mental condition.

she changed her major to criminal justice. she eventually graduated, fell in love with mary, got married, became a private investigator, etc. she spent a while working on jeff's case, losing sleep and hair over it- she was getting into some sketchy things to try and figure it out, because by this point jeff and ben were friends, and slenderman needs ben's help, so jeff's now protected by slenderman

but jane is one stubborn fucking woman and kept going. instead of sending the proxies to subdue jane, he sent sally.

sally was another poltergeist that kept haunting homes with newborn babies. she was attracting some attention, but slenderman cant physically stop a ghost - so he spent some time talking to sally, connecting with this little ghost girl and convincing her 'you're doing such a great job protecting all these infants, but this one needs you now'

he sent sally off to live with jane. mary's sister was staying with jane/mary after having a baby, so sally agreed to protect the baby. jane quickly welcomed sallys presense, always having believed good things of protective spirits. her mom used to tell her stories of how her grandmother's ghost would always come and soothe jane in her infancy (whether its true or not doesnt matter to jane) .

sally eventually became more than a presence to jane, almost completely integrating herself into her household's daily life. even after mary's sister and her baby left, sally stayed with jane. she felt safe there. (it helped that there were no men in the house too)

jane cares for sally like a daughter for a long time, and begins to redirect her life towards sally, rather than hatred for jeff. she never fully recovers from that night, and she never ever ever ever fucking 'forgives' jeff in any way, but she puts it aside for a while.

but sally is still a spirit, and does her fair share of wandering. she's always landing herself in the cornfields, the forest, etc, and jane goes frantic looking for her -- which is where she eventually bumps into the proxies. it's a huge mess, but she finds out what the fuck slenderman is and whats happening in that forest, but she just . . cant do anything about it. for sallys sake

eventually they get to the point where jane commonly finds herself walking in the forest with sally, or the proxies have to call jane and tell her to 'get her ghost kid' from the forest, etc.

at some point in this she also connects with liu. i don't know who reaches out first, whether it be liu desperately wanting to apologize for everything, or jane trying to figure out anything about jeff she can use to find him. this is how she finds out about nina.

jane smacked the shit out of nina when she first met her, in front of the proxies, who had to pull them apart. (i love nina but she deserved it after idolizing jeff). but nina is really fucking weird and began to idolize jane as well, and sally liked nina, which made it even more complicated, and that's why jane is the first person nina calls after jeff stabbed her ...

by this point janes hoping nina can heal, hoping liu can heal, hoping she herself can heal. ITS VERY HARD. its so unbelievably painful. that's basically where her story is at right now...

on a more positive note, she has a beautiful relationship with mary, and was hugely accepted in mary's family. she does poetry, creative writing, and is passionate about her career. she takes some extra creative writing/art courses at the local community college, just out of pure interest. she does her best to live a peaceful life

a bit off topic, but here's a little thing i copy and pasted from an old hc post too:

i cannot explain how close jane and her parents were. she was an only child in a upper middle class house to a lawyer and a real estate agent so she was always spoiled rotten, taken care of, always told how beautiful and smart she was. hence why losing them is the most fucking detrimental shit to ever happen to her. she literally worhsips her parents. she’s wore mothers wedding dress to her own wedding. her uncle(dads brother) walked her down the aisle holding a framed photo of her dad. she almost refused to walk during her university graduation because her parents couldn’t be there, despite the years worth of hardwork and dedication she put into it.

#asks #hcs #creeped #jane the killer #jane everlasting #jane arkensaw #jane richardson #sweetart #omfg also thank you #your ask was so sweet #thank u so much tysm tysm tysm THANK YOU

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primus-why · 1 year

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Okay okay just a real quick: MegOp Bodyguard Affair within an Arranged Marriage AU???

Imagine Orion Pax is very very very distantly related to one of the lineages of the Primes, and though he goes about his life practically a mid-caste, the fact remains that he is technically considered high-caste.

He maintains a job as an Archivist, living out a modest, unassuming life, and generally doesn't care for the pomp and circumstance of high-caste affairs. The flashiness just isn't in his nature, and there is something he can't quite place his digit on when he attended those soirees-- something unsettling and almost invisible.

The key word here being almost. He is not ignorant to the way higher-castes handle their lower-caste staff-- in his youth he'd overheard his fair share of unjust punishments over minuscule offenses or listened to someone brag about withholding payment as a means to pinch a few credits. Though Orion doesn't exist in that sphere any more, he can't shake the sense that things have just gotten worse. His friend Jazz is an upper mid-caste who has a knack for keeping an audial to the ground thanks to his security work, and has told him many times there is a growing unrest all over Cybertron-- that it's only a matter of time before it bursts into something ugly.

Orion already sees ugliness; as the slum areas continue to expand, as mechs and their homes fall into disrepair, the Senate and Council of Primes don't appear to care at all about the wellbeing of Cybertronian citizens. He sees what Jazz is referring to-- there is a looming darkness, and their people are disconnected. But what can Orion, a mere data clerk, possibly do about it?

He does what he's best at: cataloging whatever data he can find to educate himself of the stories he cannot see or fathom.

Through his research he discovered some of the gruesome ways mechs in castes below him have been treated, but even then he knew his findings were only scratching the surface. He wanted to learn more-- to speak with others who had direct experiences. He first began with Ratchet, a dear friend who was also high-caste, who used his vast medical knowledge to attend to anyone who came to him. In fact, Ratchet purposefully divides his time between high-caste hospitals and a clinic he created in Rodion in order to give lower-castes access to his skill. The lack of opportunities for maintenance and even basic medical care horrified Orion, and it only urged him to look deeper.

That was how he had eventually discovered the forums-- large, categorized, virtual assemblies of mechs from all walks of life, interacting anonymously under pseudonyms. He absorbed as much as he could-- even the uglier sides he couldn't stomach on the first read. It felt important that he saw these things, as it confirmed his suspicions that the high-castes who operated the Senate were willfully allowing people to suffer for their own benefit and comfort.

In time, he learned of the works of Megatronus-- a gladiator who fought in the Pits of Kaon, but who was also an impressive orator and author. He would publish transcribed speeches and essays under a pseudonym, though Orion quickly learned the mech's true identity from others who followed his work. His words spoke plainly of the inequalities and injustices present in society, shedding light on the lives of unnamed Disposables, and wove a dream of a world without a caste system, without Functionism. In short, it was revolutionary, and captured Orion so intensely that he became uncharacteristically emboldened one cycle and sent Megatronus a direct message.

Of course, while Orion had already been chatting with a few mechs here and there to learn of their accounts, something about reaching out to Megatronus felt... different. A much bigger step. Perhaps it was because he was something of a celebrity, being a public figure in the blood sport he championed as well as being a talented writer. Orion was nervous and excited all at once-- though he reminded himself he really ought not to be, seeing as Megatronus would be understandably far too busy to even read his message... surely he gets hundreds of those a cycle...

But then something miraculous happened-- Megatronus actually responded!!!

And thus began their fervent exchange of ideas. Megatronus was as captivating as Orion had suspected-- an enlightening philosopher wrapped within the charms of his quick wit and forward nature. Eventually-- though they had never even seen each other-- a deep mutual friendship bloomed, and Orion longed to visit Megatronus in Kaon... to meet and hear him speak in person...

(He longed for other things as well, but dare not voice them aloud for he knew how outlandish it was to want them. Orion knew he could not monopolize Megatronus' time in the selfish way he would like-- not when he was so important to the revolutionary movement he had started...)

However, everything changed when Orion's cousin Sentinel was named a Prime.

There hadn't been a new Prime in ages. Zeta and Vector had been serving for many vorns, while Alpha Trion came well before them and was by far the oldest; Sentinel would likely be replacing him on their Council of Primes. This, Orion knew, would be devastating news to Megatronus-- he knew the gladiator had hoped to one day ascend to the title of Prime as demonstration of overcoming the oppression of the caste system. Now, it seemed they would have to wait even longer for the next rare chance of a new Prime being named.

Secondary to all that, Orion was facing his own personal troubles. He, who was content to live an unassuming life, had been thrust into the spotlight for having an even closer lineage to the Primes. Now he had strangers sending him gifts, even showing up at his place of work, vying for his good graces so he might put in a word to Sentinel on their behalf. Or worse, they attempted to seduce him in a blatant attempt to ascend the social ladder through a conjux bond. It all made Orion deeply uncomfortable, and he thanked Alpha Trion profusely for letting him use a private workstation at the Archives, otherwise he would have lost his mind (or his temper.)

For folks desperate to recieve acknowledgment from the new Prime to boost their social standing, they were shockingly naive about Orion's relationship to Sentinel. They had been estranged for over half his function by now, in part because they existed in different circles, but also because Orion could hardly stand the mech. Sentinel had been pompous and cocky as a sparkling, and unfortunately it was a not a phase he grew out of. He was, quite frankly, a classic example of the type of leader people were growing to despise-- an arrogant and over-polished politician who made decisions to only benefit himself and crush the rest beneath his pedes.

That train of thought led him back to Megatronus; Orion hadn't heard from him in a while. At first he had been terrified that his dear friend had finally been overtaken in the Pit, killed by his fellow mech or by some massive beast stolen from a foreign planet. But after scanning the Kaon news for joors, he found no recounting of such an event-- surely the champion's defeat would have made a headline? Orion concluded he must be held up by something, and so after not receiving a response for quite some time, he ventured to ask another gladiator who worked closely with Megatronus-- Soundwave. He knew the silent mech didn't like to be bothered, but he had hoped to convey his concerns well enough that he could be forgiven just this once.

Orion: Hello, Soundwave. I am sorry to disturb you with the same question I'm sure countless others have been wondering, but do you know where Megatronus is?

Soundwave: ... Affirmative. Many have wondered. However, Orion Pax first to ask.

Orion: Oh! I would have assumed your inbox would be flooded by inquiries to his whereabouts...

Soundwave: Others afraid to ask.

Orion: ... Afraid to ask you or afraid to ask what has become of him? Did something bad happen?? Is he alright???

Soundwave: ... Inconclusive. Not good, not bad. Confirmed: Megatronus is unharmed.

Orion: That is such a relief to hear!! In that case, may I inquire further as to what situation prevents him from communicating? That is to say, I noticed he hasn't been posting to the forums as of late...

Soundwave: ... Megatronus: loaned to high-caste buyer. Unable to establish contact until further notice. Contract duration: one stellar cycle. Megatronus: will post as soon as able.

Orion: Oh... is that a common situation you find yourselves in?

Soundwave: Uncommon, but not rare.

Orion: I see... thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Soundwave. It was most illuminating. In the meantime, I will endeavor to be patient a while longer for Megatronus' return to the forums. Farewell for now, and please stay safe.

Soundwave abruptly exited their chat without a departing remark, not that Orion expected him to do anything else.

It had been hard as of late to see his friends in Iacon with all the new attention he had been attracting. Now, without even his dear online companion to talk to, Orion felt a bit isolated... lonely, even. But he knew the buzz around Sentinel's Primacy ceremony would die down eventually, so all he had to do was persevere.

Still, as much as he enjoyed the company of mechs like Ratchet and Jazz over a com channel, there was something about those text-based messages between himself and Megatronus that he craved. The gladiator provided intellectual stimulation that he found in no one else, and it was intoxicating...

Unfortunately the universe decided it would not let Orion Pax stew in isolation for long. No, it had other plans... which involved Sentinel suddenly deciding to send for him, so that they might meet at his grand estate and "become reacquainted".

Upon arriving, Orion was not impressed by the splendor as he now saw it as a terrible waste. He politely listened to all the history the estate manager waxed on about as they pointed to various highlights during their tour, even asking thoughtful questions along the way (which they seemed to appreciate.) Still, all he could think of is what these resources might've been able to do for literally anyone else on the planet aside from boosting his cousin's vanity.

Finally he is led to meet Sentinel in one of the drawing rooms. He greets Orion uncharacteristically warmly at first, throwing Orion off for a moment. But in a klik, Sentinel's facade slips away and he is back to his petty, backhanded remarks-- now there's the Sentinel Orion remembered.

As it turns out, Sentinel has pawned him off to be bonded to a Senator who was tantamount in securing the Prime seat for him. Orion is outraged!! How dare he make such a promise without consulting him!?!

"I refuse." Orion said, his voice cold, "The Senator may certainly try to court me, and I will honestly take their attempt into consideration-- as a courtesy to your arrangement-- but I will make no promise to be bonded by the end of it." Orion hoped the concession to at least let the mech have a fair go at courting would be enough.

But Sentinel just laughed-- laughed.

"Oh! You think you have a choice! Ha ha ha!" He wiped away some stray coolant from his optic before resetting his vocalizer, "As you may recall, tomorrow I will be named Prime. And as the highest living member of our lineage, I will oversee all of our clan's affairs. I suggest you learn your place this cycle, Orion... I may not be so forgiving henceforth."

"I don't care what you have to say on the matter, today or otherwise." Orion said, turning to leave, "I refuse to be a pawn in this game. Pick another estranged family member to entertain you, I'm going home."

"Oh, poor Orion. Didn't I mention? You are home."

"I... what?"

"I took the liberty of gathering all your things and relocated them here," Sentinel said with a dismissive wave, as though upending his entire life was as easy as ordering fuel, "and I've asked Alpha Trion place you on sabbatical from the Archives, starting immediately."

"Wh-- why?! When?!?"

"Shortly after my chauffeur picked you up." Sentinel regarded him smugly from over a shoulder pauldron, "I couldn't allow your betrothed to be seen visiting that hovel you called a home, so I graciously offered to house you until the conjux ritus was complete."

'This can't be happening.' Orion was too stunned to speak, panic creeping up as the reality of his situation sunk in. 'My job, my friends, my home... this is archaic!'

"The courting and subsequent ritus is expected to take approximately a stellar cycle," Sentinel continued, glancing at his digits and looking rather bored, "hence your sabbatical. And after that you will move into your bonded's estate. From there, I don't care what you do."

A knock on the door interrupted Sentinel's servo grooming and Orion's mental spiral. The estate manager had returned with a large silver mech following close behind, saying something about fuel being ready for them in another parlour.

"Ah! Excellent timing." Sentinel clapped his servos and turned to Orion. "Care to join me for a snack?"

Orion said nothing, still trying to calm his racing processor.

"No?" Sentinel began to approach him. "We could toast to a new chapter in our functions!"

Finally no longer on the verge of a glitch, Orion turned his helm away, deliberately not looking at Sentinel.

"No, thank you," he said sullenly, "My tanks are satisfactory."

Suddenly Sentinel cupped his chin with one servo and yanked so that their optics met.

"Are you sure? I am a very busy mech, and I might otherwise forget to feed you later." He leaned in even closer, "It would be unwise to make a habit of spurning my generosity, as I alone have the power to make your stay here more... comfortable."

"I will survive." Said Orion-- gaze firm and unwavering, a cold fire in his optics.

'I will survive this... I will survive you.'

Sentinel released him with a sneer and marched over to the door. "Come!" he barked at the silver mech, causing the estate manager to jolt. However the larger mech hardly stirred, save to plod towards the spot Sentinel had gestured to. Orion noticed his helm was bowed, red optics casts towards the floor... which meant he was almost certainly a low-caste and had to show deference to the higher-castes around him. The sight made Orion's spark twist.

Despite the submissive posture, the silver mech was large and imposing; he even had to duck and turn slightly to fit his helm and broad, spiked shoulders through the doorframe. When he was able to stand at his full height, Orion could see he wore a carefully blank expression. 'Reticence is a common self-preservation tactic for mechs in his position... I can plainly see why.'

"Meet your new bodyguard, Orion Pax!" Sentinel clapped the silver mech on the shoulder with vicious glee as red optics widened minutely before returning to their previous setting. "He'll be here to keep an optic on you at all times while you're being courted."

'Not so much for my safety as he is to deter me from running away, no doubt.' Orion speculated. Nothing he holds against the big mech personally, he knows it's just his job. Still, his presence will complicate any of Orion's future plans...

Sentinel started to walk away then, but seemed to think of something else. "Ah-- despite his frame size, he should blend into your periphery. You'll hardly notice he's there. But do let me or my estate manager know if he gets to be too chatty."

And with that, Sentinel and the estate manager finally left him alone with his new keeper. Orion let out a long, shaky sigh. He knew Sentinel could have a cruel and ruthless streak, but this was beyond the pale. 'Primus below, I shudder to imagine how will he act once he actually is a Prime...'

Shaking those disturbing thoughts for now he turned towards the other mech in the room, only to be met with red optics flicking up to look right at him. The silver mech's helm was still downcast, so it was difficult to see his expression, but Orion surmised he must be feeling wary of his new charge.

'Well, that won't do.' Orion gathered himself and strode over to make introductions.

"Hello. My designation is Orion Pax." As he spoke the silver mech's helm began to slowly rise, red optics still glued him. "Despite what Sentinel implied, I'd much prefer you speak as often as you'd like... at least in my company. It seems we will be spending a lot of time together, and it would be a shame to spend its entirety in silence."

He held out his servo as an offered greeting. Eventually, after a brief hesitation, the looming silver mech reached out with his own (clawed?!) servo and shook it, being even more gentle than Orion thought possible.

"... Orion Pax." The mech ventured, looking him up and down. "Would you happen to be from Iacon?"

'Oh my,' thought Orion, feeling his faceplates heat up a bit, 'I could certainly get used to hearing his voice...'

"Ah, yes! I am!" Orion said a bit too bright, which only increased his blush, "I work as an Archivist, doing anything clerical, really. My focus is generally on the origins and development of Cybertronian cultures and societies. Recently I've been reading more about philosophy, and how it's shaped-- Oh!" Orion's train of thought came to screeching halt. He was being rude!

"Please forgive me, but I have not even asked you for your designation! And Sentinel made no mention of it before... who might you be, my keeper? Are you part of the estate's sentry?"

The silver mech gave a low chuckle, visibly more relaxed than he had been earlier. The sound sent a tingle down Orion's struts.

"Only temporarily. I am a gladiator-- plucked fresh from the Pits to be your humble guardsmech." The mech grinned and did a mock bow. Orion was utterly charmed... but wait!

"... Do you by chance know the Champion of Kaon?" 'Could it be...?'

Another rumbling chuckle, and Orion found himself hanging on every word.

"I am the Champion, little Archivist. My designation is Megatronus."

#megop #fic pitch #fuzz writes #once again i say something is gonna be quick and then it's NOT #lmao!#long post

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celticcrossanon · 8 months

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Hello Celta, you have had to be living under a rock not to have heard about Catherine and Charles. What’s curious to me is why did Charles release his prostate thingy almost the same time as KP talking about Catherine’s hospital stay? His is not until next week. Did he want to have some of her glory and sympathetic publicity? Is he still waiting to the most important royal like he was in the Diana days?

My second point is that an American psychic Linda The Comanche Psychic had a livestream yesterday, and many were frantic asking her about Catherine’s health. Linda is a retired ICU nurse and she said her guides were saying it was an intestinal diverticulitis/diverticulosis. She had a nurse friend with this condition and she had the exact operation with the same hospital stay and recovery time. Another person in the chat, a trucker also had the same operation. It’s where the surgeon removes a part of the infected intestine, and the stitches it back together. Because of the location of the surgery, they have to take special care to make sure it heals properly. I can imagine it takes some time because your gut is not a sterile area, and she can’t lift anything heavy, eg Louis. The origin of the disease is not clear, but it could be some are genetically inclined to get it. I imagine stress is definitely an added factor., as Catherine has taken good care of her health and diet for years This is all allegedly of course, as I doubt KP will ever clarify her medical issue.

This is just to shut down those who are saying it’s a hysterectomy. Nowadays hysterectomies are done in one day, overnight stay and you’re home. As a matter of fact most procedures are one or two overnight stay. For example, Charles upcoming prostate procedure is a same day job.

I’m wishing Catherine good healing vibes. Post operation the two people in the live stream had better health, and it solved their issue. Catherine will be ok.

Hi AnonymousRetired,

I saw the news about Princess Catherine yesterday and then about King Charles today. I think both of them will be fine, but I am going to read on both of them to make sure.

I think the double announcement wasn't done out of malice or attention seeking (for once) but was either a) both palaces wanting to get all the bad news over and done with b) using the King's announcement to divert attention from the announcement about Catherine, to try and shield her from the speculation, or c) the palaces not talking to each other about the timing of the announcements. I'm not getting any malicious vibes from the King's announcement nor any attention seeking vibes from it, just "the people need to be informed about this because of my position as King, even though I would rather they did not know" vibes. If anything, I think the King is rather embarrassed about his health issue and trying to put a good face on it.

With that healing time, I think the health issue is something that involves muscles or other bits being cut and sewn back together, like what the psychic you mentioned said, and not e.g. anything done using keyhole surgery, which has a shorter stay in hospital as far as I remember.

As you said, the main thing is to send them both healing energy and positive energy, or remember them in your prayers, or whatever you do to support their healing process. I wish them both a good recovery and better health after their procedures.

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mysticmellowlove · 10 months

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I am EXPENSIVE that’s why the idea of being dependent or submissive to a man never made sense to me among the other reason that I am just assertive and dominant(but still feminine) in nature. Anyway- it made me think of Bowens skid mark ass self when he said “I get you all to myself and you live happily.” Does that imply that he wants us to stay at home or what because ain’t NO WAY.

What ever he thinks he is going to make with his little Forensic diploma is not going to cut it for me. If you triple no QUADRUPLE!! The highest salary for a forensic detective it still will not come close to satisfy me. I’m not even saying that to be greedy that is just like a fact. I gotta save the world and the oceans need more money than $137k a year to help clean them among the many other projects.

Anyway I digress- reader just lowkey shaming this man like: “ You say I’ll be happy but you’re broke, not my type, look like you will develop a hunchback at 40, have a weird personality and not the good kind, and probably have a skinny dick. So absolutely not.”

note; roast his ass anon, get him!

warnings; manipulation, bowen lol, sub yan, fem reader, death mention, gn pronouns

Bowen would just stand there with his mouth shut, a weirdly strict look on his face as he listens to you talk about your big ideas and future avenues. However, he is a massive asshole and will definitely sabotage either you (more on this later) or others to make sure he ends up with you.

(he also doesn't care about your shaming, he'd just take it in stride. Or he'd be super into it and will set himself out to prove you wrong.)

It's either 'Oh no, your competitors have suddenly lost all their funding.' or 'We should pool our funds together to help out, also let's do a backyard fundraiser or something!'

However, if that doesn't work for you, ie you really need the money and he simply doesn't match up, he will steal or get into other ventures involving... services.

Let's not kid ourselves, Bowen is a hundred per cent the type of yandere that doesn't isolate opponents and freeze them from your affection. No, this man simply kills them and moves on. Surely other people need a hitman, and he knows about the aftermath so he's perfect for the job.

He will definitely steal the belongings of the person he killed just to get some extra cash as well.

On the other hand, if he gets his way and lives with you he'll be super supportive. Has posters of awareness all over the office he's in, chats up his coworkers about your humanitarian efforts, (basically begs to be involved in some of the marine life ventures because seriously who doesn't love sharks and shit) and always attends your seminars.

If push comes to shove then he'd definitely move to more isolated and online work. He doesn't want to give up his job so he knows how it feels to want to be active in life. He would never pull a fast one on you and ask you to quit. However, he will try and relocate you elsewhere if your workplaces simply don't match up.

"Love there's a really nice office space in the next city over, we can pool our money and set up a base of operations for you." or "I can definitely transfer offices, so make sure there's space in the new house for all these files."

Anon, there is just simply no way you'll get him to leave you alone!

(and if every option he has is exhausted... well there's nothing more romantic than dying in each other's arms)

#love for anon #sub male #dom reader #ask #drabble #sub yandere #yandere male #oc bowen #fem reader

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hancoxinc · 11 months

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baileys-3 · 9 months

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CHAPTER 20 ONLINE on AO3

So, 5 days of alternating shifts begin this chapter. Let's see how our two deal with it.

Then thanks again to Cookies for beta reading. You are awesome. Because she always has a proofread and not only reads over it quickly, but also makes sure that everything is always true to character. Invaluable.

Then the current status: I started chapter 28 yesterday and am in the middle of it. Somehow everything always turns out to be longer and more detailed than expected. I'm currently at 146,000 words.

Sneak Peak:

Tim's alarm clock rings and, as always, he is immediately wide awake. In his childhood, oversleeping was never an option, and as a soldier, he learned to react to every sound, even in his sleep. Every morning, he goes for an early run, following the same mechanical routine, with only breakfast occasionally varying. On this particular day, Kojo is not there, which means that he finishes earlier than usual.

He sends his sister another quick text to check whether dinner at hers is still on for tonight.

As he checks his phone, he notices some new messages in the group chat with his work friends. He realizes that one of the group admins, Angela, has renamed the group to "Mid-Wilshire Legends". After reading the messages more carefully, he learns that the group is discussing Nolan's birthday present, which happens to be a voucher for a paintball match. Nyla came up with the idea as Nolan's failure in the shooting arena, where he was distracted by a man in a diving suit, still gets teased. Everyone in the group plans to take part in the paintball match and then go to a restaurant together. Probably the only highlight for Nolan, because Tim won’t give him five minutes at the paintball arena. He will shoot him down personally.

The conversation is now all about finding a date when everyone has time. Which is not so easy, with a big group they have. He makes it easy for himself and basically takes Lucy's free dates and simply cross-checks his own calendar before posting the same list. That's that sorted.

Then he writes a quick message to Lucy.

Tim: If I'm on the team with Nolan, I'm out. Don't forget to nap before your shift. Otherwise, I'll have to order T-shirts again.

He looks at his watch and decides there's no point in hanging around at home any longer. He'd rather be at work earlier. Before he leaves the house, he takes another look at his combined dining and living room. He sees the cactus on his dining room table. He is now the proud owner of a plant. Lucy will water it. Or it will die. It's not his problem. He didn't even want it in the first place. He shakes his head and smiles. It's just like Lucy to do something like this. And it's just like him to be unable to say no to her. Comparing him to a cactus ... he has no words.

The day gets super stressful. He receives countless messages requesting him as a supervisor. So many that he can no longer fulfill them all and needs to prioritize. What on earth is going on in this city today?

The most inquiring case was the discovery of drugs during a traffic stop hid den in a bag that contained ready-made chicken. The man who was caught with it was so co-operative – or in other words, scared – that he gave up the dealer right away namely the seller from the roast chicken stall, who was captured quickly after that. Who not only offered his customers chicken, but also drugs. Wrigley was hailed as the hero of the day for conducting a traffic stop. Upon noticing a broken taillight on the car, he immediately became suspicious when he realized that the car did not carry the aroma of roast chicken, which it should have since the bag was on the passenger seat. This led to further investigation and Wrigley's quick thinking eventually uncovered something important. Good job.

Time flies as he rushes from one call to another. He writes a few messages to Lucy during his lunch break, like how the coffee in the break room tastes increasingly strange and that she should bring one from home. But then he is on the road again on his way to another call. At least he's back at the station before Lucy's shift starts. He is sitting at one of the desks reading Wrigley's report. It’s clear to him that Wrigley rarely writes reports like this. Reports about drug possession and intent to sell, so he needs to read the report carefully and can't just skim it through. He needs to make sure, that everything is documented correctly, and the prosecutors can’t refer to any procedural error later.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone place something on his desk. It's a coffee mug with the logo of one of his favorite coffee shops. He likes the place because they serve good black coffee. He can't exactly judge the rest because he's never really cared for any other offers there. He only drinks black coffee there. He is a simple man with simple needs, sue him. He looks up and sees Lucy standing next to his desk, already in uniform. Her smile warms his heart. And even more when he thinks about the fact that she took a detour just because of him, as the coffee shop in question is not on the direct route from her apartment complex to the station.

"Hey. How was your day?"

#chenford #lucy chen #the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford x lucy chen #archive of our own #chenford fanfic #tim x lucy #chenford fic #chenfordsource #lucy x tim #lucy and tim #ao3 link

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the-present-is-a-gift-au · 8 months

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Chapter 3: In Which Fuel is Added to Fire

Twig had to get a job eventually, but none of the openings in Verdant Village worked with her expertise. Technically she could start another apprenticeship— maybe learn carpentry under a nearby watchog who was looking for workers, or figure out how to cook using something other than a single vegetable grilling strategy by working as a apprentice for the restaurant run by that one tangrowth— but none of them sounded particularly appealing. Lucky for her, she came across an idea when she set up a small stand to sell some excess loot from mystery dungeons she didn’t need. The items were all gone in a flash, and Twig made a pretty penny for what was absolutely useless to her. After all, what was she going to do with a rollcall orb when she didn’t have any teammates to explore with?

Thus began a little business operation inspired by the Kecleon Market back in Treasure Town. She’d go dungeon crawling, pick up as much loot as she could carry, keep what she could use, and sell the rest. As a nod to the Guild, she let frequent customers know they could contact Chatot about any inquiries on starting an exploration team or apprenticing within Wigglytuff’s ranks, and gave discounts to exploration teams that passed through the area when they showed her their explorer badges. It was nice. It gave her the excuse to keep exploring, and she made more than enough money to keep from digging into her savings— as extravagant as they were, she didn’t want to live above her means.

That was how she found herself in Mount Travail— it was one of the closer dungeons with better loot, so she would make longer trips to it every so often to stock up on the rarer items you could find there. It was a simple, routine trip that she set off on. Honestly, it wasn’t even like she had brought her larger bag to stock up on things more intensely. She just wanted to get some fresh air and be productive doing it, so she’d slung a smaller bag over her shoulder and hiked up to the mid-section of the mountain where the mystery dungeon had formed for a nostalgic grocery run.

She found an apple that was the size of Lyra’s head and nabbed it to give to her on her way home. Their chats had calmed down once Lyra ran out of questions to ask her, but the kid still loved to hang around Twig and show off her homemade exploration gear. Twig tried not to think too much on how her enthusiasm despite her timidity reminded her of Azurill. How old was he now? Gosh, she felt old… She needed to send him and Marill a letter.

She was halfway through the dungeon when she felt it— a weird sort of prickling itch traveling up and down her spine. She shrugged it off. Maybe she’d been lingering too long in the dungeon and it was getting ready to blow her out of its turf? No problem, she could pick up the pace. She’d already gotten everything she needed— orbs and bands, a few baubles that she could send back to Croagunk as a thank-you for not stealing her teeth or anything during her apprenticeship, and a number of foods she could stick in her stock pot back home and make a stew out of— so she could make a beeline for the exit.

She entered the next floor.

The feeling didn’t dissipate.

It got worse.

She felt like something was behind her, but everytime she looked, the most she saw was an occasional pokemon sizing her up from the sides of the path, and never approaching. The space behind her was always empty. Nothing was there. No one was there. Yet the sense of paranoia still nipped at her mind, and she couldn’t shake the unease that it filled her with. Something was off, and she couldn’t figure out why.

Or at least, she couldn’t figure it out until she turned a corner and spotted him. She didn’t scream, surprisingly, but she did leap about three yards away in a panic.

Darkrai lurked deep within a grove of trees, almost entirely concealed by the trunk of one oak and a cluster of tall ferns, looking just as startled as she felt when their eyes met.

#pmd2 #pmd eos #pmd sky #pmd explorers #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd fanfic #pmd fanfiction #pmd fic #the present is a gift au

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