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aroacesetitoff · 3 months

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Infinight Interns Reference Sheet + Headcanons

Bartholomew Finn

-Vest of Slow Descent-i made it green based off his canon design and then gave it "feathered" hems to allude to its ability

-pre-Draconic Transformation Bart-gave him silver jewelry and the only draconic traits are gold freckles, fangs, and shorter horns

-post-Draconic Transformation Bart-gold jewelry to match with his dad (Simsun), and of course claws and scales and larger horns

-boatswain's call whistle-a reference to the Jebediah + Capt. Marge

-gave him the thigh dagger sheath-cause why not. I think Bart's that character in movies that has a shit ton of knives hidden in the most improbable places

-he's got a 17 string lute, but lets be honest i aint drawing 17 strings. painted a wave design on the body and the soundhole/rosette has a dagger design

-Breath Diagem/lute pick ftw

-scars on his hands (from doing hot boi sailor shit)

-not shown but i think he's got a bunch of tattoos (like "I <3 Mom" for Marge, flowers for Gum Gum, crossed anchors, etc.)

-pupils are slitted like dragons and a very dark shade of blue

Kyborg the Mighty/Kydelius of Everwinter

-Fun Fact: i used to do archery! so some of his gear is based off of stuff I had. But you know cooler

-Canonically his hair pretty loose, and its pretty but my god its gonna get caught up in his bowstring man. braided/tied it back for practicality

-thigh highs. no notes

-gave him an armored version w/ fur because his current design didn't feel like Everwinter-y enough

-its not terribly visible but he has the Belt of Sick Trick so i put a bird on it (vaguely Tony Hawk reference)

-the Longer Bow Krystallina-gave it a snow fall design + red accents

-scars from archery, since this guy shoots barebow

-the left (flesh arm) side is the most armored and unscarred, and the right (metal arm) side is scarred + unprotected (bc u know its metal)

-pupils are really dark shade of red as a reference to the Source Diagem

-metal arm-i took an anatomy class not a robotics one, so the structure is based off human musculature (kinda) and i put the Source Diagem in his shoulder instead of his hand

Gum Gum Galindor

-star boi 🌟

-constellations on the inside of the brim of his hat that Bart sewed for him-(Bart's a sailor, he knows his constellations)

-the flowers (orange @ blue) on his hat represent him & Bart. The orange ones bigger bc u know thats his big bro right there

-the hoodie+pauldron+cross body strap combo is a direct copy of Bart's design bc thats what younger siblings do u know

-made the patches to repair his coat stars bc why not

-Random Axe of Kindness-the cute lil heart does not detract from the fact that its an axe

-timeskip design i went for a gardener vibe bc he works in the Orchidnage now-i think despite having the worst dad of the group, Gum Gum would be a pretty good father figure

-Staff of Flowers-i wanted to reference Dia w/ this one so I tried to have this be the most colorful part

-Bart pierced his ears at one point

-i gave him constellation freckles that showed up post Dia reveal

-he has his manacles yeah but i wanted to design friendship bracelets for the rest of the team

-Mudd's-green thread with pink & white flower beads-the charm is Gumbo

-Bart's-leather cord with blue & gold beads and an anchor charm

-Kyborg's-brown leather cord, green beads, and a red arrow charm

-made his pupils a lighter shade of blue that glows when he uses Wild Magic

-edit: lots of scars, some from fighting, a lit from just tripping and shit. Also a dog bite from that one time

Mudd Bramblecrack

-i love him but it was so hard to come up with a design

-the pink streak keeps moving bc im inconsistent and also bc he has to redye/cut his hair constantly

-the "fur" cloak is the Cloak of the Secluded Garden, and its actually pine leaves & grass

-gave him a very simple tunic w/ a bramble design bc we would try to disguise his noble bg

-i put Mudd in a kilt bc i have free will and also he's Scottish. I dont think he would ever wear one unless for formal occasions tho bc i think they take a while to put on

-Gumbo :) + badger armor -this ones very specifically inspired by Lonna Bowstripe from the Redwall series

-originally had the purple gems on his tunic, made em earrings instead bc thats cooler

-Bramblecrack signet (?) ring-also the Virtues Diagem. Both this and his earring are purple bc its an ace reference (for me). The ring is definitely an ace reference bc i made it a black metal and put it on his right middle finger (ifykyk)

-pink paw pads + talons-less of a firbolg thing, more of a Moon Druid thing

-eyes are a rlly dark shade of green but glow a brighter shade when Wildshaping

-pupils are a rlly dark shade of purple (Diagem ref) and also horizontal like cows

Okay I think that's everything. If not ill just come back and edit it 🤷. working on the OG Infinights next so stay tuned or whatever

#my art #tales from the stinky dragon #tftsd #bartholomew finn #stinkydragonpod #mudd bramblecrack #kyborg the mighty #gum gum galindor #headcanons

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miirshroom · 3 months

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Wings and Flight in Elden Ring

Misbegotten are feathered and have wings, although they are non-functional on all except the Winged Misbegotten. One of the main. places where they can be found is Castle Morne which is strewn about with many copies of a winged crest. This crest is just at the correct height to give the illusion that the player has wings of their own, when stood in front of - wings forged of metal. There seems to be a theme here connecting the concept of developing wings as "misbegotten" which can mean "an idea that is poorly formed".

Consider also the meaning of the word "imp". Because while the word can mean a mischievous creature or child, it is also an obsolete term for grafting plant buds. The term "imping" is still used today to describe the practice of repairing the broken wing or tail feathers of falcons - giving them wings. The Cat Imps have slender little wings and the Long-Tongued Imps have dragonfly/fairy shaped wings. The Fanged Imps have wings of various sizes between their appearances as statues for receiving stone sword keys, enemy types, fire pillars, spirit ashes, holding the books at the sorcerer rises, etc.

Wolf Imps do not have wings and neither do Elder or Corpse Imps judging by their catacombs statues. The linguistic connection of imping implies that grafting is at the very bedrock of culture in the Lands Between. Thinking back to the Misbegotten and Castle Morne, this is also the location where the Grafted Greatsword can be obtained.

The Crucible Knights use "Aspects of the Crucible" Incantations and from them are dropped the Tail, Horns, and Breath incantations. When fought, these Crucible Knights also seem to be using an "Aspects of the Crucible: Wings" incantation, but it is not obtainable by the player. This ties into a theory that I have about the general nature of the various equipment and items that we can see used by enemies throughout the Lands Between but are not obtainable. These items and incantations/spells are still considered something precious by Radagon of the Golden Order and the Elden Beast. Thus, the Wings incantation is unavailable because "flight" is in a subset of tools that only an Elden Lord can grant, and you are not Elden Lord (yet).

To explore further the meaning of wings leads to a tangent into Wizard of Oz theory. The north and purple-coloured country of the Land of Oz is called "Gillikin" and this is also the country from which the flying monkeys employed by the Wicked Witch of the West originate. The purple-eyed Demi-Human Queen in the Lux Ruins is called Gilika, and demi-humans in general have a design resembling a hairless cross between bonobos and wolf/rat (typical grunts have simian face & feet with pointed ears - the Queens, Chiefs, and runt subtypes like Boc have more elongated snouts of undefined species). No wings though. But that in itself is an interesting choice because as it happens the term "flying monkey" as used in the Wizard of Oz has been picked up as a psychology term meaning "people who carry out the work of a narcissist or an abusive person".

In the context of the above, it is notable that the witch queen of Raya Lucaria in the west also lives in a fortress guarded by winged marionettes in the similar spirit as winged monkeys. The west county of Oz is known for having the best craftsmen in the land, particularly tinsmiths. This is not to say that mapping the counties of Oz to some kind of 1:1 connection with Elden Ring is likely intended - the official map of the Land of Oz is itself a major source of confusion as it accidentally printed west and east backwards. On the other hand, Elden Ring does seem to use colour-coded regions in a way reminiscent of the Land of Oz - green for Limgrave, blue for Liurnia, red for Caelid, gold for Altus Plateau.

And for a final note, there are two demi-gods who sprout wings in their second boss battle phase - Malenia and Mohg. Of the two of them it is Mohg with his dark feathery wings that has the closest thematic connection to the Winged Fanged Imps and Misbegotten. And Malenia's butterfly valkyrie wings are something unwanted - manifestation of her blooming into a goddess of Rot in desperation. What unites both are their close ties to Miquella, who seemed to be in the process of trying to metamorphose and develop wings of his own.

#elden ring #analysis of art design #media analysis #I hate to speculate on DLC #But dreamworld with flying mechanic?#It is in FromSoft's capabilities looking at Sekiro swimming and AC6 aerial combat #Oh also the Elden Beast is a flying thing with the gold rays in its body plan similar to brine shrimp #Big flying sea monkey

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ivenocreativity · 1 year

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A dark top of a mountain is dusted in light snow and surrounded by a heavy sky of clouds. There is a slight scent of iron in the air as golden light spills into the night and illuminates the surrounding stones. Said mountain noticed light come out of this particular cave into the night before, many times in the past, in fact.

It couldn't have known this will be the last time in a long time, though. The mountain will have a chance to find company in its loneliness . . .

This cave, which was decorated in fragile yellow walls, Rococo style acanthus, and chandeliers, revealed a twirling, frenzied mass of frilled folks and clinking wine glasses. Candle light bounced off buttons, monocles, glitter, exotic decorations of masks, expensive cloth and oh so many delighted eyes. The orchestra at hand played a frivolous, yet dark, tune with a passion reserved for one's final moments. This swirling perfumed masquerade of warmth and camaraderie dwells in opposition to the cold gloom outside: singing when there is silence, laughter replacing howling winds, gold replacing darkness. Illuminated stones outside watch in wordless reverence, attempting to grasp the escape of the cold world with feeble hands. Winds shivered with the shrieks of violins and the crooked notes of flutes.

Dwelling in manicured clutches, gloved or without, glasses of vermilion liquid swirl and escape onto dresses, suits, mouths, walls . . . Footprints slide and scrape the drying substance as the folks indirectly painted the floors in their steps, feverishly dreaming of an increase in pace of this bloody image. Screams of delight are heard and the swish of dresses and overcoats reveal the dance gaining speed, their wishes being fulfilled as always. The orchestra continued to play, strings and drums feeling the strain of the increased tempo. No one grew tired, not even once.

No one ever grew tired.

Red collects and leaks from the walls' trims; candle holders of chandeliers overflow and drip upon the quickening celebrators below. The scent of iron finally begins to overpower delicate perfumes, dancing folks drinking in the smell with open mouths. Everyone continued to sway, to twirl in a now inhuman movement as red collected under nails and soaked feathers and cloths beyond repair. Recorders were clogged, clarinets grew slippery. Flutes squealed, cello strings snapped, drums were punctured but there was not a care. Tongues revel in the crimson plipping onto lips, onto faces, onto fangs, eyes closed in glory of this beautiful moment.

They almost forgot they were the last of their kind alive.

Almost.

#vampire aesthetic #short story #writing #this was in my documents for a while #original story #original work #writeblr #writblr

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well-shit-im-a-morosexual-now · 4 years

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"Chasing Stars" fic?

TW: BODY HORROR (sorry anon but it's like really fluffy if you just ignore the demons looking demonic part)

Different first meeting AU! The Fall happens later while MC is already alive AU!

LONG POST!

MC is studying to be a professional (wildlife) photographer (I've explained why this is my hc before) and as part of a project they are staying at a friend's cottage in the middle of the countryside for a week or two during their break.

One night they see a shooting star, its exact path is followed just a bit later by another (they seem extremely close to earth), then there's two more, almost next to each other, going in a different direction. Two more going in two seperate directions and they're sure there weren't any reports of a meteor shower... The last one is so close that they actually yelp and try to duck back inside when it passes, burning a fiery trail. They feel the impact on the ground when it hits the earth, somewhere in the woods.

And then they're running towards it, their curiosity has always been their biggest weakness. They're running towards a big crater at the centre of a clearing, only a small part in the back of their brain notices the burnt feathers on the ground and the smell of charred flesh. It's only when they get to the edge of the crater do they realise whatever is in there is definitely not a rock.

Rather it's some creature. And their heart is pounding and they're pretty sure they're hallucinating and the smell of burnt flesh is now pretty hard to ignore.

It's vaguely human shaped but much larger. Its feet are sharp bird like talons, its legs are bent in such a way that it would not be possible for it to stand up straight without hunching and its hands are spindly and tipped with long white claws. It's got a pair of large, mangled, burnt wings with only a few white feathers clinging desperately to them. Its skin is burnt to the point of being a pitch black and they can see more burnt feathers along its shoulders, there also seem to be smoldering vacant holes along its sides and back. Its hair seems to be the same grey-white downy fluff of a baby bird and its body is covered in splashes of some sort of thick glittery gold substance.

It's facing away from them making a loud keening sound and trying to curl itself into a tighter ball. They take a step back, maybe to run screaming, maybe to check themself into a hospital, maybe to gather their wits before they lowered themself into the crater.

Whatever it is the creature stiffens at whatever noise imperceptible to the human ear that their step made. It slowly turns towards them. The flesh on the lower part of its face is burnt off showing a full mouth of long gleaming fang like teeth. But that's not what catches their attention. Instead it's the eyes, surrounded by what looks like undamaged human skin. Even with the slitted pupils they look painfully human and terrified.

The creature growls when it sees them, low in its chest as its back tenses as if it was seconds away from darting (not that they think it can).

And instead of running for their goddamned life like any rational human would MC is slowly lowering themself to their knees at the edge of the crater. Talking to it in a soft gentle voice, like they would a stray cat or rabbit that had been hurt/spooked.

"It's okay...look I'm not going to hurt you,,,,I'm going to - fuck what am i doing- I'm going to help you okay? I'm going to - going to go get my truck and some water and rags and we'll get you cleaned up okay,,,,,just please wait here I'll be right back"

Whatever it -he?- is it's definitely intelligent. It's still slightly snarling but they're almost sure it understood them. So they get up and slowly back away and then they're turning and sprinting. Loading the back of their pick up with blankets and pillows to make a comfy nest and grabbing their first aid kit and opting out of taking actual water they instead take wet wipes and food, a proper lamp and a bottle of water.

Then while driving (as we've established MC is v stupid pls don't ever do this) they frantically Google up how to fix broken wings and treat burn wounds also can birds grow up to be 8 feet? How big is an ostrich? What are the odds of an ostrich falling out of the sky?

When they get back to the clearing, the thing is still there and curls up into a tighter ball when it sees them and it watches them with suspicious eyes but it doesn't growl.

Grabbing some of their supplies they sit back on the edge of the crater and ask whether they can come closer. It growls. They sit back down and talk to it - him? - softly. They tell their name and ask for his. They tell him what they are doing here and asks what he is doing here. They tell him they don't have any living family and ask if there's someone out there looking for him. He keens at this and they immediately apologise. They tell him about the photos they have taken and roll the water bottle towards him. They are not sure what they expect but when he (despite struggling with his long claws) opens it with a practiced movement they aren't surprised.

They ask him if they can come closer, he growls and they apologise and sit back down. They talk about more things, stories and movies. They trace the stars and tell him any stories they know about them. They ask him if he's an ostrich. He growls. They laugh.

While their eyes are on the sky he slowly drags himself up from the crater towards them, they don't hear him despite how big he is but they do notice him out of the corner of their eyes. He sits by them and they keep talking, ignoring the heat radiating off him.

Softly he coos before placing his fuzzy head on their lap and for a minute they're frozen in place before he growls and shifts more until they start running their hand through his hair. They feel two bumps on the top of his head and wonder if he had hit his head on the way down.

Eventually with the sun just starting to peak out they manage to get him standing up, sliding their shoulder under one of his arms and hobbling over to the pick up. He's a lot lighter than he looks. They get him settled in the back and cover him with blankets and drive back to their cottage thankful that the small town centre is a bit away from them. They talk loud enough that he'd hear them the whole time

There's a bit of a struggle getting him through the door and when they (stupidly) go to fold his wings which he hasn't been moving much he rounds on them, teeth bared and arm up to strike. They both end up flinching and then he's ducking his head and not meeting their eyes and they talk him through it as they fold his wings, and wince at the pained whining sounds

They move all the furniture in the living room to the sides and put down two of the blankets and get him sitting in the middle.

They aren't sure what to do about the burnt skin, it looks beyond repair and somehow like any rawness from when they first saw him had healed into a hard thick layer, he also didn't seem to mind when they touched him. So again walking him through their steps out loud, they dip a rag in a bowl of cool water and work it along his body. The gold substance has dried a bit and flakes off when they wet it, it reminds them a bit of dried blood but there are no visible wounds/scars/damage underneath it.Whatever it came from, whoever bled gold, it wasn't him.

The holes along his body look worryingly like what they'd imagine empty eye sockets would look.

They card their fingers through his feathers, gently plucking out anything that's loose (it's most of them). After that they rub an aloe vera ointment on the places where the burns seem the worse. While they do all this he watches them as much as possible, but immediately turns around if they catch his eye.

The wings. The wings are a problem. They are frantically scrolling through their phone reading articles while a YouTube video about splinting a wing plays on their laptop but they have no idea where to start or how to splint it or with what for that matter and whether he'd accidentally rip them to shreds if they tried to and actually they're pretty sure he's watching the video on their laptop and huh. So they talk to him, they tell him the problem and they ask him if it would just heal like his burns did if they set the bone (maybe it won't heal properly but maybe at least it won't cause him pain - they tell him this too) and he's watching them with bright, considering eyes and they're spiraling a bit and rambling and then he's nodding his head and rolling his eyes and turning his back to them.

They set the bones and wrap them up as tightly as they can, he whimpers and whines and squirms but he digs his claws into the pillows instead of into them

Once they are done they bring the rest of the blankets and pillows to the floor (with his wings he'd be too big for the bed), giving him water and food (all they have is cup noodles but he doesn't seem to mind). After instructing him to sleep on his front they go flop on their bed and immediately lose consciousness.

Hours later (in the evening) they wake up and walk into their living room and SCREAM BECAUSE HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK THAT WASN’T A DREAM WTF WTF WTF WHY IS HE SCREAMING TOO

After their inevitable breakdown which isn't made any better because it happens simultaneously with his inevitable breakdown. They decide (the next day morning and fuck their sleep schedule is fucked) to deal with things one day at a time.

The next week is all about cute bonding and shenanigans.

Healing is an accelerated process that only takes a few days but it's not a complete job.

The burnt skin heals into a pitch black shiny sort of leathery skin, with the skin healed they can see white markings along his front and back.

The last of the feathers fall out and new ones start growing back in. Unlike the previous ones these are a shiny black and remind them of crow feathers, they come up all through his legs, at the base of his wings, and a few along his shoulders/arms. To stop him from scratching at them they use a warm damp cloth to ease the irritation (when they'd initially just given him the cloth it had resulted with a lot of grumbling and huffing on his part until they'd taken the cloth with a roll of their eyes and swatted at his head - they'd immediately frozen because wtf was that he could probably realistically eat them but he'd only responded with a playful shove).

The bumps on his head turn out to be horns, that he's constantly trying to get them to scratch at.

The sockets and the missing skin on the lower half of his face don't heal & they should probably be more disturbed by it but for some reason they don't see it as anything too strange, it's just another part of their odd impromptu roommate.

The wings take the longest to heal and their bare skeletal form now looks more like bat wings than bird wings.

By the third day the tips of his horns are poking through his head and they distantly wondered while scratching around them if he was one of those mix & match animals from Australia like the platypus. Part gazelle, part bat, part crow and part human.

Once he heals he has boundless restless energy and is always skittering around the cottage, knocking things over like some large cat. (Part tiger?)

They have to convince him to let them file his nails so that the floor doesn't get scraped up

He's always talking. Even if they don't understand him and his words sound more like bird noises it's still him talking. If they don't listen or look distracted he'll caw at them loud and angrily.

He's very clingy and very warm. By the end of the week they find themself spending more time in the nest in their living room than in their own bed.

They don't even notice that stuff has been going missing until they one day go to kick some of the blankets outta the way and end up stubbing their toe on something hard. Underneath the blanket is a little treasure trove of shiny things from coins to the caps of pens.

He comes along with them whenever they go out to the woods with their cameras.

He seems determined to survive on cup noodles alone and honestly personality wise they're pretty sure he'd pass for one of the guys at their college.

They're pretty sure they walked into him crying while watching Cinderella, cuddled up under the blankets.

Wherever he's from they had technology because they once spent a whole hour staring at him and feeling like they were living through a fever dream while he hunched over their laptop and tapped away at it. He got caught to many many scams and they ended up getting a virus but it was worth it for that single image.

They're pretty sure he has some kind of system with the crows because suddenly there's a whole flock of them visiting the cottage and sitting around it and leaving more shiny things for him to add to his collection. They feed them just to be on the safe side.

He has nightmares. Things that leave him shrieking and growling and sobbing. They press as much of him as they can into their chest and vow to protect this monstrous creature from anything, even God himself

They sometimes catch him staring at the stars. They wonder if he misses whatever home he came from.

He avoids mirrors or any reflective surfaces. Goes so far as to flinch away from them. They preen his feathers and call him 'Pretty Bird', he grumbles and huffs and mumbles something that they think probably means 'Not a bird!' they cackle and tell him he's the prettiest ostrich they've ever seen, he shoves them and they shove back and soon they're playfully wrestling on the ground. He makes sure to be careful of his claws/talons

The first time they realise his marks glow in the dark they nearly have a stroke

He ignores them for a whole hour when they laugh after finding out he is afraid of horror movies.

Their hands are running through his hair and scratching at the base of his horns while he is curled up around them, his tail (something which like his horns hadn't been there when they first met him and honestly they feel like they're missing some sort of symbolism here) wrapped around the calf of their leg. At first they think he is growling but have to stifle a laugh, lest he ignore them again, once they realise he is purring.

They call him Star purely because that's what they thought he was and he acts like he hates it but they've seen that small stretch of human skin on his face flush at it.

No one in town saw a meteor shower.

They're not sure what they are gonna do with him, not after their two weeks end but they know for a fact they're not leaving him

Both MC & Mammon are dumb af and don't realise how dangerous the other technically could be to them

One and a half weeks later there's a knock on their door and they're pushing him towards the back of the house before they go to open it.

There's probably the most beautiful man they've ever seen at the door and they're blushing because wtf.

He's dressed incredibly well and they're pretty sure they've never seen him at the town, they take a peak over his shoulder and there's no vehicle behind him. Looking closer at him, he looks tired with bags under his eyes.

"I'm looking for my brother" he says and they're blinking because they have no idea what to say to that. The guy almost looks expectant like they're supposed to come out and say that yeah actually they know exactly where his brother is. And they're opening their mouth to actually apologise to him when there's a loud noise behind them and the man's eyes drift past them and widen.

They're panicking 'cause they know exactly what they'll see when they turn around and when they do turn he's charging towards them and the stranger and they're yelping and jumping out of the way while screaming at him not to attack the guy wtf wtf wtf.

His body collides with the guy's and they both stumble out of the door frame at the impact and they are scrambling after the two of them expecting blood and guts. But instead their shooting star is purring loudly, tail wagging, clinging on to the stranger with a death grip and his face buried in the man's neck.

The guy is somehow managing to carry the whole weight of him and is clutching at the feathers on his back with just as much of a death grip.

Maybe one of them's adopted?

The man catches their eyes and his eyes glint red and his mouth twists in the beginning of a snarl but then their roommate is shifting in his grip and murmuring something and the guy's face is softening for a split second before it hardens again and he whacks the other over the head.

The two speak in soft murmurs but they catch parts of the man's words "Father", " Diavolo", "Lilith", "worried", "human body", "Wrath", " family", "Mammon"

He's nodding his head at the man then before disentangling himself from his (older?) brother and turning to them. He takes a few steps towards them and the man says in a warning tone, "Mammon".

He ignores his brother and walks up to them

"Guess your name's Mammon, huh?"

His eyes scrunch up in a way they know means he's smiling.

"It's cute. Suits you."

And he's blushing and huffing and they're looking at his eyes that are still so human and suddenly they're hugging him tightly and he's hugging them back and they're squeezing their eyes shut and burying their face in the soft feathers at his shoulder.

"I'll miss you, try to stay out of trouble"

He huffs again and squeezes them gently.

They open their eyes wondering what the hell they're doing standing outside in the cold morning in just their pyjamas.

They walk back inside the cottage which for some reason seems much larger and emptier than it was earlier. There's a large bundle of blankets and pillows in the middle of the living room and they have no idea when they did that, they try to kick some of it away and end up stubbing their toe. Under the blankets is a large shiny pile of junk. Were they drunk last night?

They finish the rest of their two weeks at the cottage. They clean up the blankets and spend the nights in a bed that remains freezing even when they turn up the heater.

They go through the pictures they took over the last week and a half. There's some good ones but none that stand out. Nothing interesting or special

They feed the crows that frequently come to their window.

When it's time to leave they get the biggest box they can and fill it with all the junk that they'd found under the blankets. The box sits at the back of their closet when they go back home

They manage to finish all of their studies during the next couple of years and somehow manage to cover all their student debt without any problems (their friends insist that they must have made a deal with the devil to achieve it).

They take freelance jobs as a professional photographer while they work retail part time. Somehow they always seem to have enough money to eat more than just cup noodles and they live in a pretty ok apartment.

They've also taken up driving away from the city to watch the stars during the weekends

Life is good. Normal.

And then one day they're falling, ass first, into another world and meeting the most beautiful man they have ever seen.

His eyes widen a bit in something like surprise when he sees them but it's gone in a second and then he's telling them they're going to be part of an exchange program between three different realms and he's hoisting them on his brother.

And then they're begging him - Lucifer, that's his name, Lucifer - they're begging Lucifer to take them instead because one phone call with this Mammon guy and he sounds like a dick.

But Lucifer's shaking his head and he looks way too amused.

Then a loud is voice is coming from behind them, complaining about being lumped with a human.

And they're turning around to get a look at the asshole who was now responsible for their life and he screeches to a stop in front of them.

Eyes -familiar eyes, so very familiar- wide and surprised and confused, the anger dissolving from his face as his mouth opens and closes soundlessly.

And then he's saying their name, softly, softer than anyone has ever said it before.

This is posted on AO3 along with the other fake fic outlines/summaries! The link to it is pinned on my blog, feel free to leave a comment cause I feed off that shit :D

#asks #answers #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #obey me!#shall we date? obey me!#swd obey me #swd mammon #om! mammon

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thethistlegirlwrites · 3 years

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👁 What is your OC’s eye color? Do they have any eye-related habits, like winking or rubbing their eyes? Do other people tend to notice their eyes? - for Jesse, Aspen and John

👤 What is your OC’s skin like? Is it unblemished, or are they prone to breakouts? Do they have any scars, tattoos, or other skin markings? Does their skin tend to be sensitive to things that get on it (lotions, cleaning products, etc.)? - this is for all of your OCs

💇 What is your OC’s hairstyle? How do they maintain their hair? Do they wash it and/or cut it regularly? Have they ever dyed their hair? - for Tina

👖 What type of clothing does your OC generally wear? Why? Do they have any “signature” accessories? - I know that I have asked about Robin numerous times, now it's time for John

👀 What is the first physical feature people notice when they see your OC? Why? - for all of them

🪞 How does your OC perceive themself? Do they believe themself to be attractive, unattractive, or average? Does their view of themself affect their self-esteem, or are they unbothered by their physical appearance? (If your OC does have things they’re confident or insecure about, what are they?) - for John and Will

Buckle up folks this is a long one so answers are below the cut!

👁 What is your OC’s eye color? Do they have any eye-related habits, like winking or rubbing their eyes? Do other people tend to notice their eyes? - for Jesse, Aspen and John Jesse has vivid blue eyes, which change color with his moods like all fae. His follow a pattern similar to ocean coloring, and the normal bright blue is when he is alert, a darker blue means he's calm and at ease, and a green-tinged grey means he's upset. He tends to look down when he encounters someone. He might meet their eyes for a moment, but then he'll drop his gaze and move past in a deferential kind of action. It's instinctive, one of the few things that hasn't changed since he was kidnapped. While he rarely shows any other traits that mark him as a submissive member of the pack, dropping eye contact is something he's never been able to fully change. Aspen has blue-grey eyes, and after he's changed by the Mist and gets his powers, his eyes turn green when he's actively using those powers. While people may not pay much attention to his eyes normally, they definitely notice when they change colors. John has dark brown eyes, that sometimes look a little bit gold if the light hits them right. His Abuela Rosa says that the golden shade is he result of his having Second Sight, the ability to see through fae glamour and occasionally, glimpses of the future. He has a small scar in the eyebrow on the left, which he tends to rub subconsciously when he's thinking. 👤 What is your OC’s skin like? Is it unblemished, or are they prone to breakouts? Do they have any scars, tattoos, or other skin markings? Does their skin tend to be sensitive to things that get on it (lotions, cleaning products, etc.)? - this is for all of your OCs John - John has copper-colored skin like his mother's, and he tends to get dark-colored scars after injuries. The most noticeable ones are a set of deep lines across the side of his neck, the aftermath of vampire claws. Robin - Robin has pale skin that scars fairly easily. He gets freckles if he spends much time in the sun, across his face and his arms. His skin is sensitive to a lot of human-made dyes and chemicals in soaps and other things, so he tends to avoid anything that isn't made with all natural ingredients. Kira - Kira has tawny brown skin that has a tendency to be dry. She has a tattoo of a sunflower on the back of her neck, and one of her nervous habits is rubbing her tattoo. Maira - Maira has pale skin, with several scars from her childhood surgeries for scoliosis and a heart defect. She also has a brownish-purple birthmark on the inside of her left arm. Cody - Cody has dark brown skin that was prone to breakouts when he was a teenager, and still has some small acne scars along his hairline and his upper lip, as well as a permanent impression of his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Emma - Emma has pale skin with a bluish undertone because of her vampirism. She tends to cover the blueness of her lips with a vivid red lipstick, but aside from that she uses very little makeup. Her only scar is the bite mark on her neck from her turning. Arion - Arion has pale white skin with the same blue undertone as Emma. He has no scars aside from the one that formed when he became a vampire, which resembles an electrical shock wound. Brooke - Brooke has dark brown skin, and because she has vitiligo, her skin has pale patches that are especially light on her face and hands. The condition made her an outcast in her village and at one point, when it was only just starting, she tried to conceal it. Aspen - Aspen has pale skin, with a tan and freckles in the summer from working in his garden. He's allergic to down, and he can't sleep on a pillow made with feathers without breaking out in an itchy rash. Will - Will has tan skin, with much of it on his left side covered in old burn scars. The scars often ache, and are more easily irritated, especially by damp clothing chafing them, than the rest of his skin. Amy - Amy has pale skin that often develops a small scattering of acne spots across her shoulders and on her back, as well as sometimes across her cheeks. She has a visible vampire bite mark on her neck, although the scar appears healed, it is tender to the touch and easily irritated.

Jesse - Jesse has light tan skin, which will develop a darker bronze shade if he spends a lot of time in the sun, like he did when he worked on the family fishing boat. He has light freckles on his nose and cheeks, and four black tattooed marks beside and below his left eye. Tina - Tina has brown skin that generally has some level of garden dirt embedded into her knees and elbows. She has the five tattoos by her left eye that denote adulthood, as well as a mark on her left arm that identifies her as a healer, and the beginnings of the tattoos that will tell her life story on her upper left arm, her collarbones, and her neck. 💇 What is your OC’s hairstyle? How do they maintain their hair? Do they wash it and/or cut it regularly? Have they ever dyed their hair? - for Tina Like her tattoos, Tina's hair tells a story of who she is and what she's done. The patterns cut into the shaved half of it, and the particular arrangement, placement, and color of thread used in the braids that are done on the other side, indicate at a glance her role as a healer, her proficiency in her craft, and her family of origin. These are all traditions of her father Eden's Dominican fae family, and she wears them proudly just like the tattoos from her mother's wolf side. Eden is the one who shaves the designs into her hair and redoes the braids when they come loose, and she does the same for him. 👖 What type of clothing does your OC generally wear? Why? Do they have any “signature” accessories? - I know that I have asked about Robin numerous times, now it's time for John John tends to wear clothing that is utilitarian and functional. Dark t-shirts and jeans make it easy to hide blood, and he tends to wear heavy tactical-style boots that lace up. His jacket is well-loved, and has been repaired several times. It has both the insignia of the Amarillo agency and Chimera on it. His most ubiquitous accessories are his silver-laced bullwhip and the Bowie knife that he inherited from his ancestor, the real man behind the fictional Quincey Morris. 👀 What is the first physical feature people notice when they see your OC? Why? - for all of them John - The scars on his neck. Robin - His eyes, because they change color with his moods Kira - Her curly hair, or if she's signing, her hands. Maira - Her height. She's shorter than most other people, and she also has one shoulder that's slightly higher than the other due to her spinal curve. Cody - His glasses Emma - The fact that she looks too perfect to be real. There's something unsettling about looking at a vampire. Arion - His fangs. Often because that's the only thing his victims have TIME to notice. Brooke - Her vitiligo. Aspen - The fact that he watches people closely, to try and read their lips Will - His burn scars and his limp. Amy - Her hair. She has short, raven-black hair that's constantly swishing around her chin when she walks. Jesse - the tattoos by his eye. They stand out vividly from his pale skin and catch attention. Tina - Her hairstyle. The combination of the shaved side and the braids tends to be the thing to draw people's attention, despite her many tattoos. 🪞 How does your OC perceive themself? Do they believe themself to be attractive, unattractive, or average? Does their view of themself affect their self-esteem, or are they unbothered by their physical appearance? (If your OC does have things they’re confident or insecure about, what are they?) - for John and Will John sees himself first and foremost as someone who gets the job done. As long as he's physically capable of doing his job, he doesn't particularly care what his body looks like. He's not exactly self-conscious about the massive scars on his neck, but he doesn't like to look at them often because he doesn't like the memories that go with them. John considers himself attractive enough in an average way, and he's

been known to flirt with his marks to try and get information from them.

Will tends to see his scars as a reminder of his past. They bother him most for the fact that they are still painful, years later, and also that if he happens to notice them they bring back bad memories. He used to consider himself pretty attractive, but now he's more concerned with wanting to blend in than stand out, and the fact that his scars make that almost impossible does frustrate him.

#magic & silver #between the trees #written in ink #John stoker #robin #kira burke #Cody dayton #maira lawson #Emma cole #arion #brooke #aspen #will #Jesse baumgartner #Amy sherwin #tina baumgartner

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calistico · 4 years

Text

(She’s inspired by Nazuna (BNA) (She’s supposed to be wolf based)

AIRIAL FLORA | OPEN ORIGINAL SPECIES

Note: They are capable of living in the clouds!!

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(I was inspired by @carmel-rose ’s Goatasus species)

1. BLOSSOMS/LEAVES AND STEMS

The blossoms/leaves can be any flower/leaf you want, as long as the flower corresponds to the season the Flora was born in. They feel and smell like real flowers/leaves but aren't as fragile

(Duplicates of flowers/shapes of leafs on different Flora are allowed)

The blossoms/leaves glow in the dark when the Flora is using their powers or in general (you can see a bunch of sparkles in it)

But if the Flora senses danger and needs to hide, the blossoms/leaves and anything else that glows will stop glowing automatically so they can be harder to find.

The blossoms/leaves don't bloom until the Flora is the age of 13. When the Flora is born the flower/leaf is a closed flower/smol leaf bulb (a young leaf) and remains that way until they are 13.

The Flowers and Leaves are not invincible, if they are slashed in any way, shape or form... blood, energy, dust, and glowing particles will flow out. It will need emergency services to be repaired. If too much is lost, the Flora's blossom/leaf color will start wilting and they‘ll pass out, sometimes death will occur since its basically their blood.

If the Flora are twins, the blossoms/leaves will be the same, except the color of the leaf/blossom of the youngest twin will be a slightly lighter color than the eldest.

The blossoms/leaves can be on both sides of the Flora or on one side. Please note that if it is on one side of the head, the size of the blossom/leaves will be slightly bigger, than if it were on both sides.

The center of the flower (where the pollen is), has a symbol or shape of your choice, it can be a heart, star, music note, etc (this must match the eye color) (this doesn’t apply to the leaves)

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ENERGY POCKETS

When the Flora turns 13 they get energy pockets in the form of accessories.

ACCESSORIES

The bloomed flower blossoms/leaves always have something attached to the very base/stem of the blossom\leaf, like but aren’t limited to:

ribbons, tree nuts (i.e. hazelnuts, acorns), more flowers/leaves, vine fruits (i.e. cherry or strawberry), and these appear when the Flora is 13 (and are completely randomized, meaning duplication is possible)

The main energy pocket (from birth) is on their chest in the form of an oval gem, which is their birthstone. If that gets broken the Flora is automatically dead as there is no fixing it. This is how the energy gets back and forth to the blossom/leaf and through out the body.

The Flora gets an accessory as backup energy, if they were to lose some. And on rare occasion Flora’s can get two accessories like Peony, She has ribbons and feathers.

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2. APPEARANCE

FUR

Their fur can be any pastel color or Snow White. Their fur is soft and they can poof up during cold months to heat themselves up.

NOSE

Their nose can be a small button or a heart matching the color their flower/leaf is

MOUTH

This part just needs to match the main color of the flower blossom/leaf. (Large fangs are available too)

HANDS

They can have hands that don't match the main fur color and paw pads.

MARKINGS

These can be found on the Flora’s cheeks, hands, and legs. Can be what ever you please, the color is the same color as the fur except it’s vibrant.

EYES

These can be whatever color you want

Note: If a Flora happens to lose one or both of their eyes... They can still see out of the eye(s). The selera (eyeball) will be black and the iris and pupil will turn into the blossom or leaf's shape and it is about the same size as their original iris. These glow as well.

HAIR

It's soft like silk. The top half of the hair is a darker version of the main fur color.

(This part was inspired by the different variants of Selena/Luna by MagnaLuna)

If they are born at night: The bottom half of the hair is white referencing the moon.

On special occasion If the moon is in a special stage the color will match that moon phase.

If it's a harvest moon: The bottom part of the hair will be a gold or a blond.

If it is a blood moon: the bottom part will be a rusty red or a deep red

If it's a supermoon: the bottom part will be white and have glitter

If it's a blue moon: the bottom part will be a pale blue

If they are born in the early morning:

The bottom half of the hair is either warm pink, orange, deep blue or yellow

If they are born in the evening:

The bottom half of the hair is either cool pink, firey orange, dark blue, violet

If they are born in the afternoon:

the bottom half of the hair is either sky blue, or light yellow

TAIL

They have long fluffy tails, that reflect their hair.

EARS

The ears must be wolf’s ears.

The inner part of the ears is a matches the fur color and the outer part matches the hair. The ears are soft like the fur and they have excellent hearing.

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4. WINGS

There are two different sets of wings.

The white feathery pair is for morning and afternoon.

The dark navy blue feathery wings are for evening and night.

FEATHERY WINGS

The wings are two different colors, the top side (top feathers) is white or a deep dark blue (depending on when the Flora was born) the bottom side (bottom feathers) is the color of the blossoms/leaves

INFO

They can fly very fast and they can slide into narrow spaces while in flight. It's soft like a pillow and smooth like glass

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5. POWERS

Some powers depend on when the Flora was born, this means you have a greater chance of getting a certain power at a certain time

If the Flora was born at night, you have a greater chance of getting these powers: Dark, Psychic

If the Flora was born in the day you have a greater chance of getting these powers: Light, Fire

Doesn’t matter: Water, Grass, Rock, Ice, Metal, Cyber, Sound, Healing, Poison

If you happen to make one, tag me! I’d love to see your Flora!

#oc #original character #peony #airial flora #original species #open original species

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mardi-nah · 4 years

Text

Duet

Decided to do my own kind of Monster March! Let’s see how this goes.

Gender neutral narrator, siren, beach/cliffside setting, small village, fluff

Every night at the crack of twilight, when the blue-gray of bruises bloomed over sky and darkened freckles of clouds, a song rose up from the depths of encroaching dark. There were no words in any language to describe it: the melody was the most beautiful thing you would ever hear, wordless and powerful and soul-wrenchingly passionate. It was a song that screamed up at the empty sky for something, someone.

Your Nan taught you never to follow the song up the cliffs. “If you do,” she warned, “the singer will eat you.”

All of your village knew better than to venture up the rocky beach. Instead, you stuffed your ears with beeswax come nightfall, and went about your work.

When you first arrived in the village, you were given the choice to listen to the song. They tied you to the trunk of the fattest tree on your side of the island and you listened. You were young when you heard it—too young, Nan liked to grumble. You couldn’t quite remember what it sounded like, only that no music ever sounded as pretty to you again.

Sometimes, visitors came to the village. Usually sailors and traveling merchants. They would eat at the inn, and be offered beeswax to plug their ears at night, and while most took it, a few always didn’t. They would be gone by morning, and the leftovers of their group would be warned not to expect them back. Every now and then a leftover would search for a body, or climb the cliffs for revenge. The former would return empty-handed; the latter wouldn’t return at all.

You lived like this until Nate came to visit, and you woke in the middle of the night to find him gone.

Everything inside you revolted at once; nausea rose like a wave inside you, your chest burned, your throat swelled up until you couldn’t breathe. You rushed out of your hut stumbling, tripping over sand and rocks and your own feet, and you couldn’t pick out whether the wooshing in your ears was your pulse or if the beeswax had come loose. It didn’t matter; you didn’t have time to repair it.

You had never once climbed the cliffs, but you did so frantically tonight, your path lit by nothing more than moonlight. Even though you had never been here, never done this, you knew where to go. There was only one way.

Your heart was banging against your ribs, stomach full of lead when you staggered up the last round of rock and saw them together.

Nate, eyes glassy, shuffling up to a strange man with hair like burnished gold and sleeves of feathers of matching color, his nails long and sharp as talons as he beckoned your friend closer.

“Stop!” You cried, charging forward. “Stop! Please! He’s my best friend!”

The man jerked around, staring at you, but his singing had stopped, and the spell was broken. Nate blinked and began to look around himself in alarm.

You rushed forward, shoving Nate behind you as he said—something. You couldn’t actually hear him, which you supposed was a good thing, and instead of answering you glared, trembling, at the man who had been luring your best friend to his certain death.

The man was even more bizarre up close. His entire torso was actually covered in those golden feathers, and he had eyes to match, glowing gold in the dimness of the evening. The skin of his face and hands was sun-darkened and freckled, and when he gaped at you, the teeth that peeked out from behind his lips were bone-white and pointed like fangs. He was wearing a sailor’s common trousers, but the leather boots on his feet were ripped open art the toes to allow bird-like claws to protrude through.

“Leave him alone!” You yelled, shaking, and then after a second’s pause, “Please.”

Nate’s hand came down on your shoulder and squeezed, but if he said anything, you couldn’t hear him. The man in front of you slowly raised a single finger and tapped on his ear, glowing eyes watching you.

You shook your head.

He tapped again, and then looked over your shoulder, murmuring something. You didn’t have time to react before fingers plunged into your ears and removed the wax.

Noise came back so quickly it made you dizzy, but you caught Nate’s disgusted, “Oh, that’s so gross.”

“Nate!” You screamed, half in disbelief, half in terror.

“Wait, wait, before you get mad, just listen!”

The man was watching you still, and he leaned forward on the rock he was perched on, snatching your attention back to him. He cocked his head to one side. “You want me to let you and your friend go.”

You startled. “Y-yeah?”

“I have no claim on you, but I won him fairly,” the man nodded at Nate, who blanched, but said nothing.

“I can trade you for him,” you offered, maybe a tad desperately. “We have plenty of meat in the village, and—and fish and pigs and chickens. If you like music, I can carve you an instrument, or—“

“Sing for me,” he cut in.

You screeched to a halt. “What?”

“Sing for me, and I’ll let him go. I sing each night for those who would come to me, but no one has ever sang for me. One song, and you can go home.”

He seemed serious. You stared at him a moment, your mouth dry, when Nate’s dumb mouth opened again.

“Uh, do I have to sing too, oooor … ?”

“No.” The bird-man didn’t hesitate.

“Oh, right then.”

You licked your lips, swallowed, mouth dry, and began to sing.

It wasn’t anything special; it was just a nursery rhyme you had been taught as a kid, and though you knew your voice was nowhere near as beautiful as this creature’s, anxiety made it wobble and break. Still, you kept going, you kept trying until you reached the last verse, the last syllable, and then you watched the bird-man fearfully.

He wouldn’t change your mind just because you sucked, right?

But the bird-man only dipped his head and gestured back down the path, the dark hiding his face from view. “You are free to leave. I will not pursue you.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You loved Nate, but you were glad to see him go. It wasn’t safe for him here, and furthermore, you were still upset with him for compromising the two of you that night. What was worse, he had seen fit to spread the news that you had bravely rescued him, with several exaggerations and overblown statements that made your neighbors regard you with more interest than you liked.

Somehow, you had known it was going to happen, but you dreaded it anyway.

Miss Taylor’s child went missing in the night, and you were awoken by her banging on your door, pleading for you to save him from the monster by the rocks. You didn’t want to. Reggie was a stubborn idiot, but how could you leave him to die? Granted, you might join him in death, but you had to try. You could not stare this tearful woman in the eye and do nothing.

That night found you back on top of the rocks, the bird-man regarding you with surprise, Reggie standing stupidly in the middle of the cliffside, glassy-eyed and distant. Slowly, you showed the man the plate of mutton you had brought with you and placed it on the ground, slowly.

“Please, don’t hurt him. Take that instead. Think of it as a gift.” You tried.

The bird-man tapped on the side of his head, and after a small hesitation, you scooped the wax out of one ear.

“Will you sing for me again?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise. “You want me to?”

The bird-man stared at you, those strange eyes drilling deep into places you weren’t entirely comfortable with. “I like your voice.”

Well, there was no accounting for taste.

You sang for him. You sang like it would be your last time ever doing so; you sang like a life depended on it (because it did). You sang even when Reggie groggily began to wake up from his stupor, even when he snuck off and left you alone with the creature in front you. You sang until the song was done.

The bird-man lowered his head like he had the previous night. “Thank you. You may go.”

And like the previous night, you left.

There were mornings when you would open your door to find items on your doorstep that could not have gotten there on their own. At first, you were puzzled by their appearance. You would find pearls, pretty shells, shiny jewels, old jewelry, coppers, silvers, gold pieces, aluminum, bones, shark teeth.

It was a slow process, but you began to suspect, and that was what led you back up the rocks one particular evening, a roasted chunk of pork wrapped in linen in your basket.

The bird-man was perched on a boulder again, lounging with his mouth open, singing some melody you couldn’t hear past the beeswax stuffed in your ears.

He stopped abruptly as you walked closer, glowing eyes wide as they watched you.

You placed the basket at the base of the rock and unplugged one ear. “You’ve been leaving me gifts.”

He didn’t say anything, and remained very, very still.

You continued. “You’ve been leaving me gifts, but I don’t even know your name.”

“I was never given one.”

“Surely you’ve had companions before.”

“I have.”

“What did they call you?”

He shifted uncomfortably on the rock. “We didn’t call each other. That is not our way.”

You stared at him for a minute. “What is your way, then?”

“We sing together. Or for each other, if we wish their company. But my kind don’t stay together unless they are mated.”

“I see.” Well, that was a problem. “How am I supposed to call you if I want your attention?”

He looked at you then, his eyes too bright in the surrounding dimness. “Isn’t it obvious? I hoped you would sing to me.”

You decided to try a different tactic. “Why have you been leaving me gifts?”

The bird-man shifted again, dropping his eyes from you. You tried to peer at his face, but sadly, it was too dark to catch any signs of a blush. “I … I was hoping to show my … interest. And that it would be returned. Perhaps.”

“How would I show that?”

He cleared his throat and scraped a sharp nail over the rock. “You would sing with me.”

You watched him for a moment. “We aren’t mated if I sing with you?”

“No. To mate, we must build a nest together.”

You thought for a moment, but only just. You had been thinking of this for several days now, after all. “Okay.”

Your companion’s head jerked up, eyes sharp. “Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll sing with you. Hold on.” You plugged up your ears again, looked to him for a minute—his face was avid, hopeful and focused—and began to sing.

You saw his mouth move, though you couldn’t hear him. You had no idea if he knew the lyrics to this song, or if your voices were blending well together, but you gave it your all.

The villagers began to refer to you as the monster tamer as people stopped going missing in the night. You did not tell them that your lover wasn’t tamed at all; simply well-fed on your plates of pork and beef and mutton. Well-fed and happy, you thought.

He seemed to thoroughly enjoy singing with you, and having you sing for him. Sometimes, after the two of you had learned each other more, you would even take out your wax and let him sing for you.

It was the most beautiful song you would ever hear.

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todaluk · 3 years

Text

Writing Challenge - Tea

[Muse Song: Lost Highway by Dirtwire ]

Eyes scanned the tables for anything worth gil as various hands passed by his face with delicate silks and woven gold. Bright smiles and kind words baited him closer as boxes were laid out with jewelry and trinkets that the Seeker casually eyed. There was an energy that raced through the busy streets as Toadie found himself almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. He moved quickly to the spices and couldn’t help a sniff at the scented oils nearby. The Seeker moved from stall to stall, effortlessly pulling away from each without a purchase as he sweet-talked the merchants.

A light bump here, a comforting hand around a waist, or a simple gesture as he moved past yielded various items like a fine gold chain and an embroidered handkerchief. Gently leaning over counters, his sash covered a trinket or two from the stalls where he picked up a pair of earrings and a bracelet. He only needed a few items to pay for his request. He didn’t want to get too greedy on the golden streets of Ul’dah.

Quickly, he traveled the side street as it rose up and then dipped to follow the stairs. Toadie’s coin pouch, tightly wrapped and tied to a belt, was tucked neatly under his sash. Yet still, he moved to place a hand over the spot as he continued along the forgotten areas behind the market. Some shopkeepers sat in wicker chairs, others on stained pillows to invite a passerby in through the tattered cloth or bead draperies. Black market dealers, potion peddlers, fencers, and even the desperate fortune teller clung to their shops and pretended as if business wasn’t thriving under the shadows.

Bright eyes kept a lookout as he moved through the dark alleyways. The sound of the market was a distant hum that traveled over stone, giving the back alley an otherworldly feel. Toadie’s ears swiveled to each sound, but he knew which shop he needed. His feet remembered the way. Shops lined the street, but none of them were his goal. He was a mortal traveling a moon bridge and one false step would send him toppling over the edge.

Long tufted tail swayed behind him as he turned and slipped into a small building, a gilded eye painted very discreetly on the corner of a window. Pulling back a thin cloth that hung before the open doorway, Toadie started up a very soft growling purr in his throat. A welcome comfort and sign that he meant no harm.

His sense of smell was muddled as the sweet and musky smoke swirled around him as if trying to captivate him. A deep breath, he could feel a slight haze creep into his consciousness as he rumbled louder when his heart rate picked up. Ears swiveling, he made sure that while his eyes adjusted to the dark room he’d keep to the wall and follow the displays. A wall to his back, he slowly began to come down from his momentary fight response.

Toadie’s hands moved across displays of odd trinkets that lay on small pillows. Jewelry of all sorts decorated mannequins and ceramic hands that sat on the counter tops. Intricate silk sashes were draped over wooden dowels, each with stitched patterns in glittering color. Charms and baubles sat on antlers displaying bird feathers, precious stone, and etched bone with various purpose and usefulness. A delicate web stretched across the ceiling with shimmering stone for the star patterns. The soft sound of bone and antler against wood brought Toadie back from his journey.

A woman emerged with cloth draped over her form. An old body, she still retained every bit of muscle needed to protect both herself and her goods. Her ears and tail were covered in dark black fur lacking any sort of sheen while her entire form melted in and out of the shadows of the room. The woman leaned a hip to the counter with a vicious grin as she took in the sight of the Man.

“I could have stolen you blind in the time it took you to get out here old woman.” He chuffed

There was a slow building gurgle as the old woman spit up a laugh that raked across slate. When she finally spoke, her voice growled with the ferocity of a half-tamed beast. “And learned just how accurate my aim still is, anak.”

Toadie glanced over the woman before giving her a respectful bow. A flourished motion, one he learned from the folks at the theater. However, he wasn’t expecting thin fingers to lift his chin and redirect his gaze. The Seeker’s eyes met similar dark amber ones in a tense gaze. He slowly stood back up as the old woman pat his cheek and then her claws moved down his clothing with the gentleness of a spider threading web. She stopped at the gold threaded sash and gently tugged the knot.

Toadie let his ears fall back and frowned as he growled in his sudden agitation of her response. However, there was simply the knowing smile and gentle pat to the knot and fold keeping the sash on his waist. No words passed, but he knew she understood where the cloth had come from. The cursed caravan was dead.

“Why is luck walking through my shop today?”

Toadie moved forward in the darkened room, his hand produced a handkerchief wrapped around the few items he’d pinched at the market. “A trade…”

The woman's voice took a softer tone, but it only made her sound more sinister. “A trade? What did you bring me, hmm? And what do you want in return?”

“The first, is my pendant. I need you to fix it, and you are the only one I trust to do it right.” Toadie paused for a moment, thought better than to request a second favor, but continued. “Second, I need another charm…”

The witch reached forward to grip the cloth with skin barely stretched over skeletal hands. Toadie watched as her claws opened the handkerchief and she sifted through the stolen goods. Eventually, she looked up and her smile stood apart from her as bright white fangs stood out from the shadows. There was a bit of laughter, but it faded quickly as she reached out to Toadie to ask for the pendant.

The Seeker's ears fell back as the woman tossed the payment to the side, the loud clang of metal on glass shattered the relative quiet of the shop. She waved him over to a work area. Pillows circled a low table with a few tools already spread and ready. Toadie took in a breath, and reclined into the pillow pile as the woman worked.

“What sort of charm are you looking for…?” The witch pulled out a thin strip of leather and measured it before cutting away the excess.

Toadie swiveled his ears and grinned, “I need another cracked bone. I... Uh, lost my other one.”

There was a pause in her work, and Toadie let his ears fall back as dark eyes slowly trailed up to lock with his own. “No.”

Toadie frowned, "I need a replacement."

"You stole the last one..." A claw reached and jabbed at the air towards the Seeker. "No."

Glass and wooden beads were strung onto the leather strip as she alternated the shapes. There was another pause as she hovered her hand over the pendant and looked up at Toadie with a frown. Silence was met with silence as she took a pair of fangs to tie into the necklace. The design was not the same as before, but then each time the necklace was repaired it changed.

“They suffer while you are away. They lament the loss of their Luck.” The statement hung in the air, captured by the smoke that drifted around them.

“They don’t suffer. You don’t need luck to survive. You need skill.” He gave the woman a snort as he settled back into the bigger pillow. Crossing his arms, he felt a petulant streak as he inclined his head and frowned.

A scratching rasp caught his attention, but it was just the woman laughing. More beads were set out and strung on the necklace. Toadie watched the woman work as she tethered odds and ends into the design. He also noticed just how drastically this piece had changed from the last. Though it wasn’t long before the necklace was finished and as the witch fashioned a clasp of metal to each end.

She handed over the finished product. “Try not to break this one as quickly as the last.”

“No promises.” Toadie took the piece and placed it around his neck with a sigh, the weight a familiar and missed feeling. He looked down at it before he stood up.

“How many have you tricked in your time?” She chuckled and tipped her head. The question was a shift from the previous conversation, but one that Toadie understood.

The Seeker laughed and his tail tip wiggled behind him, “I never tell them I’m good luck. They make that mistake all on their own.”

The woman watched him for a moment and her ears tilted back, “They follow you out of false hope. How long will you lie to them?”

“As long as they let me.” He winked.

The witch did not stand as she waved him off towards the door frame. “Payment was sufficient for the work, so you owe me no debt.”

Her words were more ceremonial than anything as she then clasped her hands together with fingers pointing down. Slowly, she opened them and bowed her head with her ears back. Toadie held no hesitation as he did the same in a return gesture. Between the two, they shared a sign of trust between members of the same tribe. When the farewell was complete, Toadie turned with a glance back. “Be well, Kurshaw…”

Feet moved of their own accord, and the Man was lost in thought as he turned and maneuvered his way back to the sun. The sounds of the market brought his focus back to the present and he looked back towards the side street. Pulling out a cracked bone charm, he fashioned it to his bandana with the condor feather settling just within his peripheral. Taking a final stride forward, he melted into the market as just another face in the crowd.

Back in the shop, a clawed hand snatched up the empty display with a click of her tongue, but then laughed. "Well done."

#ode to luck #seaswolchallenge

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darkwoods-darkdreams · 4 years

Text

Imagine you’re a dancer (IV)

Any and all attempts at escape were stopped well before you even got close to a door or window. It was like he could feel when you were tempted to run. He would always appear behind you, just close enough for you to sense him but not actually touching. He’d warn you to stop whatever you were doing if you didn’t want to be punished. You never made him follow through on that promise. You always shrank away from the exit and into his waiting arms.

At some point, he had started requesting that you bring him his afternoon tea. You had tried to protest at first. He ended up putting you under his spell and had you strip yourself bare. He led you through the entire process of making his tea just how he liked it, all while his cock was prodding against you. You ended up taking the easy way out and making his tea without a fuss.

It was in those moments that you hated him most. You were just a toy to him. Not an equal. Not even a person. A broodmare. Your grip tightened on the silver tray as you carried it. A servant opened the door for you. You could see the way her gaze lowered to the swell of your belly. You saw the way her mouth twitched. How her eyes narrowed. She was jealous. You would never understand why. You used to be a dancer. You used to have the perfect body. You used to be free. Now you were just a slave, filled to the brim with something that wasn’t even human. It sat low in your belly. It made your back ache. There were times that it felt left it was nestling right against your cervix, making your knees quiver and squirm. It was becoming more active. A flutter here. A press there. It was fidgeting now. Your hands were full. You couldn’t try to soothe it into submission. If that woman could take your place, you would gladly give it to her.

“You’re right on time, my dear,” he was sitting in his usual chair. One leg crossed over the other. By appearance alone, he looked human. But he wasn’t. It was just a mask. A way to slip through crowds and did as he pleased.

You didn’t say anything to him. You set the tray down on the table next to his chair. You put the finishing touches on his tea. A kick within your womb made you stiffen. You couldn’t swallow the tiny groan that escaped your lips. Your hand instinctively went to cover the spot.

“They’ve been restless lately, haven’t they?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t look at him.

“Pet,” it was a warning. He’d grab you by the jaw and make you look at him, if he had to.

“I suppose,” you finally spoke. You straightened, “Some days more than others.”

He lifted his leg so he was sitting normally. He patted his thigh, “Come here.”

You scowled. You looked away. You didn’t want to. You were already carrying his child. He didn’t have to take everything else from you, too, “Why?”

“You’ve been on your feet for a while. You must be tired. You deserve a bit of rest.”

It was a lie. It was always a lie. Concern was just a veil. Beneath it was the desire to take something you had. But you were too tired to refuse. You stepped toward him.

“Hike up your skirt,” the tips of his pointed teeth were visible as he spoke. His eyes were dark. He was hungry. For what, you couldn’t tell just yet.

You begrudgingly did as he said. The air hitting your legs and stomach brought a shiver down your spine. You sat in his lap. The weight of your belly was heavy against your thighs. The firmness pushing back always brought the reality of the situation crashing down around you. He had bewitched you, stuffed his cock inside of you, and bred you like some concubine.

His touch was feather light at first. His fingertips brushed over your skin like it was satin. It barely gave way as he gently pressed his palm against the swell. His hand moved to the bottom of your belly, holding up some of the weight. You choked back a moan of relief as some of the tension was taken from your back.

“Healthy. Strong,” his other hand settled on your waist. He pressed a kiss against your neck, “It won’t be long.”

You swallowed. You were dreading it. You were afraid.

“I’ll have the midwife visit you this evening and make sure everything is going along as nicely as it looks.”

You frowned a bit at that. You hated him the most, but the midwife was second. She was clinical and thorough. She would examine everything she could if her presence was requested. She would call for the maid to come and hold you down if you put up a fight. The measuring and the pinching and the prodding was one thing. The way she chastised you made your blood boil. She took note of how you didn’t want to be pregnant. She told you that you were lucky to be given such a role, to be blessed with the presence of someone so powerful. So virile. When she slipped her fingers inside of you and saw that he hadn’t taken you, she would berate you for not fulfilling your role. You were supposed to please him. You were his servant. He owned you completely. That you didn’t have the right to refuse him. He gave you food and a proper bed. At the very least, you could let him sink his teeth into your neck, to bend over and take his cock until he was satisfied and his seed dripped down your thighs.

The feeling of his hand slipping into your smallclothes brought you out of your reverie. You grabbed his wrist. Your mouth fell open as his fingers delved inside, “St…Stop it,” you tried to pull him away, but he only pushed further.

“You’re in the position to make any demands, pet,” he pulled you toward him. He leaned you back against his chest. His free hand brushed your hair away from your neck.

“Please,” you whimpered, “I-!” the familiar sting of his fangs burned through your neck and into your shoulder. You didn’t move. You couldn’t, for fear of him ripping your throat out. You could only listen to each swallow. When the pain faded, you were left with the feeling of his fingers pressing up into a spot that made the grip on his wrist tighten. You could only watch the maid stand in the doorway, scowling as she watched.

He withdrew from your neck with a ragged gasp. He had taken more than usual. You were beginning to feel lightheaded. Blood still seeped from the puncture wounds and seeped into your dress, staining it beyond repair. His tongue laved over the marks. He wanted to taste every last drop until your wound clotted and the blood stopped pouring.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hissed. In your time with him, you had found that blood was like wine to creatures like him. His voice was lower now. A rumble in his chest that you could feel against your back.

You couldn’t help but whine as he removed his hand. You tensed as he lifted you and reached for his pants. You grabbed the arm of the chair. You needed to get up. You had to get away from him before-

His nails dug into your hips so harshly that you knew you would bruise. He pulled you down onto him, hard and fast. You cried out as he filled you, as he pressed against your cervix like he was trying to impregnate you all over again. You threw your head back over his shoulder.

“Look at you,” with one hand clutching your thigh, the other rose to your belly. He bounced you on his lap. The child in your womb shifted with each thrust. You could feel the weight pressing into his hand, “You’re doing so well. My child is flourishing inside of you. You’ll struggle through the birth. You’ll toil until you give me an heir. All because you’re a good pet. My only pet. My darling. Your blood is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted,” his hand slipped between your legs again, “Your womb takes my cock like it was made for it. You’ll dance for me again, won’t you? You’ll sway your hips and make those gold discs you wear sing. You’ll climb on top of me and let me fill you with another child because that’s what you were made for. You were made for me.

He was drunk. He was saying things that made you want to hit him. But your dizziness was getting worse. The blood had stopped, but he had taken too much. You couldn’t lift your head from his shoulder. You moaned and gasped as he fucked you harder. You couldn’t respond. You couldn’t tell him that you wanted to run away. That you never wanted to see him or his child. You wanted to be free. You wanted to return to your old life. You didn’t want any of this. This had all started because he had put you into a trance.

“Ngh!” you were about to break. The tension was about to snap. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to clamp around him like a vice and milk him for everything he had. You couldn’t. Not when he wanted to keep you. You couldn’t give him another reason.

The pressure of his fingertips shattered what strength you had left. You whimpered and keened. He didn’t stop. He coaxed you through your orgasm until the pressure was so great that you feared that he would induce childbirth. He pulled you flush against him. Warmth pooled inside of you.

You stared up at the ceiling, thighs twitching. His fingers cradled your jaw. He cleaned away what blood remained. He kissed all of the skin he could reach. Softly, like you were lovers. Not just a master and his slave. Something else. Something different.

And it terrified you.

#fpreg #vampire route #dub-con #good ending route #bad ending route #series #a dancer

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avenger-hawk · 2 years

Photo

ナルサス by あす on pixiv Posted with the artist’s permission. Don’t remove the source. Reblog, don’t repost.

#narusasu #sasuke #naruto #akatsuki sasuke #uchiha sasuke #uzumaki naruto #hokage naruto and akatsuki sasuke #au #kinda #relevant for my writing #of feathers and fangs: to repair with gold #あす #kiss

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luninosity · 4 years

Text

Want a tiny preview of “A Penny for Your Thoughts,” my next flash fiction short that’ll be out from JMS Books at the end of the month?

(JMS pre-order link here - only 79 cents! & Amazon pre-order link here! - only 99 cents!)

The enchanter was busy in his workshop when Morgen arrived; of course he was, Morgen thought, with fondness.

He wandered round to the side of the crooked wispy-edged cacophony of towers and library rooms and staircases to nowhere, avoided a few colorful puffs of glittery rainbow steam from some improbably-placed chimneys, and propped a shoulder on the wood of the door-frame, watching.

Averet Coral was worth watching. Any day, any time, any chance to do so. Morgen’s heart did its usual flip between happiness and unhappiness, affection and resignation. He did not make a noise, being a good magical artifact hunter with lots of stealth-related skills; he did not make a noise because he wanted to gaze at Averet for another second, just for a second, a pulse-beat of secret gold.

Those enchanter’s hands were always busy. Averet cared for the whole unpretentious grassy farmland kingdom of Lea, and each and every village and hamlet that that rambling magician’s cottage popped up near, and even sometimes, Morgen suspected, villages in other dimensions or other worlds, with wholehearted delight. Averet cured fevers and found stray lambs and had once fixed the mill’s broken wheel by simply sitting down cross-legged with a hand on it for a while and, in his words, talking to it gently but firmly about getting into proper shape again, no more broken jagged bits. Averet in in off hours tinkered with new inventions, with charms and iron-shaping, with creations offered up for sale or as gifts. New enchanted quills that made images float in the air when the tales they’d written were read aloud. Tiny perpetual-motion solar-system models. Delicate hovering lanterns, so light they needed to be tethered to a solid magician-artificer’s worktable.

Could be any one of those, today. Or something entirely new; and Morgen shifted weight, couldn’t not grin at the idea.

Averet hadn’t looked up, working with his back to the door. Invisible spells hovered in place, doing their job of protection against unwanted intruders, Morgen knew; those spells recognized his own presence with the ease of familiarity.

Familiarity, and improbability. Himself and an enchanter. This enchanter.

The usual tiny fangs bit his heart, but he was used to that too. No worse than a salamander’s nip. At his fingers. Which wanted to reach out and explore. To use all his adventurer’s skills to discover the texture of messy raven-feather hair, the sensation of Averet’s smooth skin, the sound Averet might make if Morgen’s mouth tasted his hip, his stomach.

They were friends. Somehow, implausibly—except not implausibly, because Averet immediately befriended everyone and everything he encountered, from the miller to the miller’s son to the miller’s repaired wheel—friendship’d happened. And they helped Lea together, himself and Averet; Morgen did believe that: that what they did made at least some sort of difference to the land.

He couldn’t lose that. Not any of it. Couldn’t take that chance. Didn’t dare.

He pushed himself up from leaning on the door. He followed guiding glyphs through the items for sale or trade, through a mysterious tangle of oak and twisted devil-blue glass and copper wire, and toward the workbench.

Averet didn’t turn his direction right away, dark head bent over what looked like a small quicksilver mechanical kitten, the last words of a spellwork drifting low and happy through the air. The kitten, now infused with magic, yawned and stretched metal toes and arched its spine. Averet laughed, and petted its silver back.

So amazing. So amazing, Morgen thought, the way he always thought, every time he hauled his scuffed boots and oversized shoulders and sunburnt nose to that enchanter’s door. Averet Coral was strong and slim and kind and startlingly human, as usual dressed in casual clinging trousers and a loose cream-colored shirt with rolled-up sleeves, baring expanses of tanned forearms: no formal magician’s robes or old-fashioned towering hats interfered with energy and creation.

At the moment he had a smudge of some unidentifiable powder on one elbow, and a half-drunk mug of tea on the workbench beside the kitten, which stuck its mechanical nose curiously into liquid. Averet laughed and rescued the mug, and made a face at what was no doubt ice-cold liquid by now, and looked around in vain for somewhere unoccupied to set it.

Morgen loved him. Helplessly, hopelessly, foolishly: head over heels for the most beautiful kind-hearted magician ever to exist in the world. Any world. Any time, any place.

#my fic #original fic #lgbtq fantasy #fantasy romance #m/m romance #gay romance #flash fiction

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minigenos · 5 years

Text

Holidays, Part 2

Part 1 ― Part 2 (you are here)

Genos plans a romantic holiday evening for Saitama. However, as this is the One Punch Man universe, things quickly start going to shit when monsters attack.

The atmosphere at the banquet hall was relaxed and friendly, though one wouldn't think so based on Genos's expression. While Saitama was nearly halfway done with his food, the cyborg hadn't touched anything in his bowl. He was just... staring at it.

Oh god, not again, the hero thought to himself as he looked over to his date. He's over-anaylizing something again, isn't he?

Saitama knew the only way to snap Genos out of his current mood was to get him to say what was on his mind, much to the older hero's chagrin.

He really hoped it wouldn't be another ten-minute long essay this time.

“Uh, Genos? You haven't touched any of your food yet. It's going to get cold...”

“Oh?” Now that Genos had been brought back to reality, the only thing left to do was brace for whatever he had to say next.

“Sorry sensei, I was just thinking. I should have been able to detect those two monsters you defeated well before we actually saw them. Now I'm beginning to wonder if my sensors are faulty or monsters have developed some way of hiding from them...”

Saitama looked over at Genos. Or, more specifically, the crack in his head from when the hero mistakenly hit it like an alarm clock.

Hmmm...

That might be the reason why his system wasn't working properly.

But it was Christmas, and Genos shouldn't have to worry about something like that. If anything came along Saitama could handle it. Now all he had to do was convince the cyborg of such and get him to drop the subject.

“Ah, yeah, well don't worry about it. They're gone and if anything else shows up I can deal with it, no problem.” Saitama managed a smile to make what he said more genuine, which Genos seemed to begrudgingly buy.

“You're right,” he finally admitted. “I'll just have to make sure Doctor Kuseno checks it the next time I go in for repairs.”

For a brief moment Saitama was exceedingly glad the doctor didn't have any means to contact him – he probably would have gotten an earful from him over damaging Genos in such a stupid way.

With Genos's mind put at ease for now the pair could finally relax and enjoy their dinner in peace.

Except not really.

With Genos's sensors out of commission, everyone was taken completely by surprise when part of the roof and wall caved in and the shadows of a dozen monsters materialized in the swirling dust and snow.

Every single one of the workers fucked right out of the room at the very first sight of the monsters. They definitely weren't getting paid enough to deal with that kind of crap.

“Hm, hm! Well, isn't this a surprise,” one of the monsters said. “Someone who didn't run away for once. Are you too scared to move, or too stupid to know when to get out of the way?”

At the direction of the monster closest to the heroes, the entire group began to move forward well before the dust and snow had settled.

“Well, since you gave us such a warm welcome,” the same monster as before said, “please allow us to introduce ourselves.” Standing before them was what seemed to be an animated tree with two sets of stubby, gnarled legs and one pair of over-sized arms that ended hands with varying numbers of sharp claws. On what could be considered its torso was a giant number “1” while where its head would have most likely been was a circular robotic structure that held a bird within it. One of the bird's eyes and part of its head were robotic while a monocle was somehow held up against its other eye.

With a couple egotistical chuckles the bird spoke again. “We are The-”

“Hey look Genos, it's a cute little pigeon!” Saitama said, completely cutting off the monster. “Do you think they have any bread in the kitchen we can feed it? I wanna go check.”

“Sensei...” the cyborg whispered in what could be considered a pleading voice for him. He tried to grab onto his mentor to stop him, but the man was already out of his normal reach.

“Would you stop that!” the bird monster shouted, causing Saitama to freeze in his tracks. The tree it was positioned on top of lurched a huge step forward in response.

“Oh hey it talks!” Saitama smiled over his delayed realization. “Neat, a talking pigeon”

“I'M NOT A PIDGEON YOU IMBECILE!”

Now that Saitama's focus was solely on their newest adversaries, the hero finally took the time to look over each monster in the group. Thankfully for him, all but one were number-coded for easy identification.

1 – The talking pigeon (“I'M A PARTRIDGE YOU TWAT!!”) and animated tree.

2 – A bipedal, mostly white, turtle with unusually large claws. Saitama could see bursts of pink flames erupt from the limbs every so often. Its number was sewn onto a silver arm band.

3 – One of the most human-looking of the group, this monster had long, flowing silver hair and held a long cigarette marked with a “3” in a gloved hand. Her white boa provided a sharp contrast to her floor-length black dress.

“Oh hey, you look really nice!” Saitama couldn't help but compliment the monster.

“Oh? Tu es un charmeur,” she replied in a somehow italicized French accent.

4 – While the head of this monster was identical to that of a common sparrow, just enlarged to fit the rest of the body, everything from the neck down looked almost boringly human, even down to the black suit and polished shoes. A small “4” was monogrammed onto its pocket square. It might seem rather uninteresting, but this was definitely a high-class monster.

5 – A solid gold-colored, cartoonishly haute humanoid. He probably wasn't real gold; maybe 10k at max. He seemed to use psychic powers to continuously levitate and spin five circular gold blades at speeds fast enough to rip through flesh. Instead of telling time, his watch showed only the number 5 – honestly, there were some days where Saitama could get behind that sentiment.

6 – The only un-numbered one of the bunch, it was literally just a giant goose. Likely it had ripped its marker off.

7 – This monster seemed to have the head and upper body of a black-colored swan wearing a long, iridescent black feathered dress that trailed on the floor. Saitama couldn't tell if it had normal human legs, really long bird legs, or if it was just two swans standing on top of each other. He figured it would be too rude to ask. A black corset with a silver “7” jutting from it indicated where her place was in the group.

8 – This monster seemed... suspiciously human. A burly woman in a red and white maid's outfit, combat boots, and spiked punching gloves marked with one bright red “8” on each one seemed like something one would see at a cosplay convention than with a group of blatantly obvious monsters.

At this point Saitama wished there were fewer monsters because the descriptions of each individual one was becoming extremely tedious.

9 – Saitama had to admit, this monster looked surprisingly interesting. It was a ballet dancer made up of possibly millions of shards of crystal that seemed able to shift and reform its body at will, though most of the time was contorting its body in the approximate shape of the number 9.

10 – This monster seemed like it would again be more at home at a cosplay convention, or even a Renaissance festival. They looked like a ridiculously over-sized elf, aside from the mask over its eyes which turned them into a pair of glowing white dots. A belt held together with a “10” buckle stored numerous smithing tools and picks while the monster held a heavy mallet in each hand.

11 – A massive, completely mechanized hedgehog with a thick black sack for a belly and musical pipes as opposed to quills. Its number was engraved into large gears placed at the monster's hips.

12 – The final monster of the batch, and one of the few that looked like a monster to boot; a large demon drum with rows of spikes along both sides of its body. Based on how easily rubble was crushed into dust under its feet, it was safe to say this monster was notably heavier than it looked.

With each monster finally registered, Saitama had only one thing to say.

“You guys seriously take orders from a pigeon?”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD I AM NOT A PIDGEON!” the bird shouted as his wings slapped down onto the rim of his mechanical nest.

“He's an angry pigeon,” Saitama teased, which resulted in even Genos rolling his eyes. “Oh! Wait, I get it now! It's like the song! How's it go?”

“W...what?” the bird muttered in a perplexed voice.

“FIVE GOLDEN HENS!!” the hero bellowed at the top of his lungs, startling both Genos and the group of monsters. His student was the quickest to recover and pointed out his mentor's mistake.

“No, no, sensei. It's five golden rings. The hens are day three.”

“Are you sure? I thought they were golden hens...”

The pair spent an obscenely long time debating among themselves what item corresponded to each day and wildly failing, while the group of monsters that were very blatantly based off of the song stood. Directly. Across. From. Them.

“What shall we do?” the monster marked with a 3 asked.

“This is getting ridiculous,” the feathered ringleader of the group replied. Together they were no less than a Dragon-level threat, possibly bordering on that of God.

And they were being ignored by an over-literal cyborg and hoodie-wearing humanoid egg.

“Just kill them already!” the bird ordered with a wave of his wing, which triggered the monsters into launching forward – fangs, claws, fire, or tools bared – and bear down on the two heroes.

The sudden commotion was finally enough to break the pair from their discussion. Genos dropped down while his robotic body flared to life, while Saitama merely just turned his head.

“Don't you know it's rude,” he started while balling his left hand into a fist, “to interrupt other people's conversations?” He swung his fist in an arch, which made direct contact with the “1” on the sentient tree, causing the monster to disintegrate instantly. The shock wave from Saitama's punch completely destroyed the other monsters, causing their bodies to be torn to shreds and splatter in a wide arch around where they died. Only two monsters managed to survive the carnage by getting blown back and managing to avoid a fatal amount of damage.

“Get up Golde. We need to get out of here.”

“W... what happened?” The gold-colored monster rose shakily to an approximate sitting position and looked at the other monster. Hen looked pretty roughed up, to say the least. Her dress and boa had seen better days, and the cigarette she had gotten from Par as a gift for joining the Knights was long gone.

The pair had been knocked notably far away from their original spot and landed in a poorly-lit area far enough away from the heroes to escape their notice. A true lucky blessing for them if ever there was one.

“I don't know how, but we survived.” The made a long, pained sigh. “I think we're the only ones who did.”

“But- but you've got to be joking! We're notably weaker than some of those monsters! Heck, we're not even full-fledged monsters like they are-”

“Were.”

“...were... but you're saying we are the only ones that made it out alive?”

“Oui.”

Golde let out a dejected sigh and held his head in his hands. His partner stretched out her hand as a silent reminder for him that they needed to get up and get the heck out of there before reinforcements arrived. Or, even worse, those two heroes found them.

“How the hell did it end up like this,” he muttered to nobody in particular.

Neither Golde or Hen, his female co-patriot, were full-fledged monsters just yet, but were welcomed into the Demon Knights because they fit the rolls so well. Originally they had planned to just wait it out under the other monsters' protection until they had completely turned themselves, but now those plans had been completely shot to hell.

“Well, what now?” Golde asked as he wrapped one of Hen's arms around his shoulders.

“I have some items left in storage,” Hen replied. “If my contacts are still around I might be able to sell them and make enough money to open a store somewhere.”

“Hm? What kind of store?”

“I was thinking... a café or bistro maybe? I always enjoyed visiting those places as a child...”

“Ooh! Can I help?” Golde seemed to perk up at Hen's words, causing the woman to get knocked off-balance. “I've always had an eye for interior design and art.”

“Oui. But first,” Hen said as she readjusted herself, “let's focus on getting out of here.”

Golde had no choice but to nod dejectedly at the suggestion. Heartbroken over their loss but determined to make it out of the shitty situation they now found themselves in, the pair walked off into the night to piece their lives back together again.

On a positive note, the Demon Knights had been swiftly vanquished by Saitama. On a less positive note, about a third of the banquet hall had been demolished. That was a small problem for the heroes. The hall's owner probably wasn't going to be very thrilled over what they did.

As Genos called the owner and tried his best to explain what had happened over the other person's loud swearing, Saitama checked out what was salvageable from the food tables. It seemed only the fruit, vegetable, and one try of miniature cakes were, as those three were the only ones to still have a covering on them. Still, it was better than nothing. The hero picked up the three trays and walked over to a mildly frustrated Genos.

“I called the owner and they will be here shortly,” the cyborg said as he pulled out a Hero Association contact card and sandwiched it between a piece of rubble and one of the remaining tables. “I'll leave a card just in case he couldn't hear me over his own swearing.”

“Good thinking Genos,” Saitama commended his partner. He would have given a thumbs up, but his hands were full from the salvaged food. Genos turned around to thank his mentor for the compliment, but froze when he saw what the hero was carrying around.

“Sensei... why...”

“What? I don't wanna waste food if it's still good. This stuff's still covered so it's fine.”

“Yes, but...” Genos quickly realized any argument against taking the food would be futile, and let out a defeated sigh. “Fine,” he acquiesced, “but what now?”

“Hey, are you two OK?!” a familiar voice shouted from outside the newly “renovated” hall. The pair turned to find Mumen Rider in full uniform with a bag of groceries hanging from a handle bar.

“Oh, hey Mumen,” Saitama said before walking over to the other hero.

“I heard a loud explosion while I was out getting groceries, so I checked out and came as fast as I could. Looks like you took care of... everything... though,” he finished while looking around at the destruction.

“Yeah things got kinda messy,” Saitama nodded. “But, uh, we still managed to salvage some of the food, so that's good.” He hoisted up the trays in his arms to show off to the hero.

“Hmmm,” Mumen mused for a few seconds. “Hey, I have an idea!” He held up his pointer finger to emphasize the fact that he had an idea. “Why don't we stop off at the store so I can pick up a little more meat, and we can use it and those vegetables in a hot pot? I haven't had a chance to make that in ages!”

Saitama was on board almost immediately.

“Heck yeah!” the hero beamed. “That sounds great! You wanna do it, Genos?”

Even though the cyborg wasn't particularly thrilled about how the night had gone, he couldn't overlook the fact that Saitama seemed exceptionally happy over the suggestion.

“That's great,” Mumen smiled. “The store's right on the way home, so it won't take long at all to go in there, get what we need, and head back out.”

The group of three left the hall's parking lot with some light-hearted discussion, and completely ignored the owner of the establishment, who had just shown up. It was probably for the best that nobody was around him in the end; the string of expletives that spewed forth from his mouth could have made even Tiger-level monsters shrink back in horror.

“Alright, took a minute to put together, but here we are!” Mumen smiled as he set the hot pot assembly on the middle of the table. Finely-sliced pieces of beef along with vegetables had been carefully arranged in the bowl which was just now starting to heat up. It would be a little while before everything was ready, but even now the aroma was enough to make Saitama's mouth water.

“Hey, thanks for this,” Saitama said as they continued to sit around and wait for their food to be ready.

“It's no problem! Honestly, I was surprised to see you two out tonight of all nights.”

“Yeah,” the hero replied. “Funny enough, I almost overslept and forgot about it! Ha ha!”

Saitama's last sentence was enough to cause Genos to turn around and give him a mildly stone-faced look. The crack on his head was still very much visible, thank you very much.

In the end Genos couldn't deny that laughing off the incident was probably the best idea, despite the fact that it 100% was Saitama's fault in the first place. Tonight had turned out alright in light of their earlier setbacks, and nobody wanted to ruin it now. Genos merely waited silently for the hot pot to finish cooking as the other two heroes talked about everything and nothing at all.

“Is it done yet?” Saitama eventually asked, prompting Genos to pick up a pair of chopsticks and poke at the food.

“Seems so,” the cyborg replied.

“Aw sweet!” Saitama eagerly picked up his bowl and chopsticks, then pulled out a little bit of every item from the hot pot that was within his reach. Mumen and Genos quickly followed suit.

The pair didn't leave until nearly midnight, and to Mumen's delight cleaned out the hot pot bowl and all the dishes they had used. As the lone hero turned off the lights to his kitchen and living room, he couldn't help but let out a contented sigh. He had only planned on having dinner on his own tonight, but sheer chance had led to Saitama and Genos joining him for the evening. It wasn't anything fancy or extravagant, but he had a great time and hoped the two other heroes did as well.

Saitama woke up with a start the next morning.

They had left all of their food at Mumen's house!

#one punch man #opm #saigenos #genosai #mumen rider #minisfic #holiday #christmas

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akurathereaper · 5 years

Text

Please don’t read if you didn’t go through Guild wars 2 Path of Fire, contains major spoilers for an episode

An alternative ending to Akura’s story that is not canon but it was a thing I thought of when walking home one day and when I wrote it, it actually came out quite well

CONTAINS SWEAR WORDS AND CHOOPED OFF LIMBS & DEATH

(Chaton is my friend’s character, a human female mesmer, was here, here and here with Isil )

A scream rang from above, and Akura lifted his head. That was a woman’s scream, he was sure. Chaton? Flashed through Akura’s mind and panic overtook him. He let the reins hit the dusty ground as he sprinted up the rocks to get to the top. It couldn’t have been Chaton. It couldn’t have.

The hot, arid air burnt Akura’s lungs as he lunged over fissures and climbed the eroded rock to get up. A bad, bad feeling tightened his chest as he finally stepped on the smooth rock with patches of grey grass here and there. Shock, terror and panic spread through him.

It was Balthazar.

Balthazar was hanging over Chaton as she tried to crawl away with a terrible wound in her side, his sword, if that monster of a blade could be called that, dripping and sizzling with her blood. There was a fire force field around them.

Akura had to get inside.

“Balthazar!” He shouted, trying to get the fallen god’s attention before he finished what he started. The giant turned to him, a wicked smile on his face and cruelty in his eyes struck fear into whoever saw them. Akura didn’t flinch and instead ran closer, but was pushed away, burnt, by the barrier around them.

“Aaah, I see the Second Commander has decided to join us.” Balthazar’s sword swung around the figure, lusting for more blood. “I will take care of you in just a minute, if you allow me to get rid of the annoying bug in front of me first.” Why was he so damn nonchalant.

Akura pulled out his greatsword and swung against the barrier. The blade struck it and the magic threw him back. He barely kept on his feet. He swung again, pouring his own death magic into it, trying to chill and soothe the flames. The God didn’t seem to notice his doing, his full attention back to Chaton. The woman seemed barely conscious now, so close to the edge she could be easily pushed off. Akura hit the barrier again and again. He had to get inside, he had to.

His sword got stuck in the flames, and he could see frost spreading throughout it, cracking the force field into submission. The sylvari wasted no time and jumped inside, knowing full well he’ll be trapped if the barrier were to repair itself.

“Balthazar!!” Akura charged at Balthazar, engulfing himself in his shroud. The colour faded from the world, sound was muffled and Akura only saw the fiery inferno that was Balthazar’s life force. The fallen god turned swiftly and his sword met Akura’s scythe. Akura was pushed back.

If I get hit by that, I’m dead, Akura quickly evaded Balthazar’s strike that scorched the land. He’ll definitely die if he gets hit by that sword head on. He needed to buy time for their team to get there, he needed to buy time for Chaton.

In a short moment, six minion charged at Balthazar, their frames so small they were hard to hit with that gigantic sword, and they lunged at him, fangs bared and ready to bite in.

They were burnt to ash when they touched him. Akura cursed under his breath, his scythe at the ready. Balthazar charged, his floating weapon giving no indication where he’ll strike. The sylvari gathered life force around his arms, and he charged his scythe with magic.

Left! Akura barely avoided the blade and charge forward, burying the blade of his scythe in Balthazar’s side. The deathly chill was immediately scorched by the fire, and Akura tried the last thing he could think of.

He let the scythe go and jumped. His hands burnt when he grasped Balthazar’s leg, and he pumped as much magic as he could afford, trying to freeze it. Fuck, he’s scorching-, Akura couldn’t bear the pain no longer, letting go of his enemy and kicking him in the wounded knee in hopes it would crack.

Only a clank of armour when his foot hit it, and Akura was instead knocked back by Balthazar himself.

His vision darkened, the rough ground and rocks scratching him as he rolled on the ground, almost falling off the edge of the rock.

“Akura!” Chaton’s life force was so weak… Akura crawled back on his feet, watching Balthazar’s every move while trying to see the damage on his body, his shroud already trying to repair it.

Broken ribs, definitely. And his back and sides were all covered in deep scratches. Akura’s breath was shallower than he’d like, his arms trembled and he was still amazed his knees could take his weight.

Balthazar took out Akura’s scythe out of him, sneering at the weapon and throwing it away, the last drops of the shroud falling off it and it changed back into a greatsword. Akura was weaponless now. His staff was still being repaired. There had to be something-

The god charged. The sword hit the ground to Akura’s left and he tried to dodge it. Too late. The dust settled. Akura was on his knees in front of Balthazar, his eyes looking distant when he examined what was left of his left arm.

Nothing but a burnt stub. Not even a shred of pain, even when the shroud fell down, the feathers burning up in Balthazar’s flames. Akura felt nothing. His eyes left the stub and moved up to the smirking god of war.

…Trahearne… Akura closed his eyes. He was defeated. All he could do now was to accept it, with head held high and his back straight.

Chaton’s life force wasn’t gone, and there were more approaching. She’ll be safe. He hoped. He won’t be able to protect her no more. He will never meet her tiny fleshlings when they’ll be born. Or console Isil as he’ll definitely panic over the fact he’s a father.

Family. Akura knew he had a family, in the Grove. But they were distant. Chaton, Eyris, Yvrell, Aath, even Canach, Rytlock and the others… they were his family. The ones he wanted to protect. Trahearne was his family. He’ll have to leave them here, and join Trahearne in the afterlife.

Akura wondered if there’ll be something sweet to eat there. Maybe he could teach Trahearne how to bake.

“NO!” Chaton’s scream was the last thing he heard. He felt no pain. He was at peace.

I’ll see you in the Mists.

A bad feeling overcame Isil. Something really, really bad just happened. Without looking at anyone, speaking to anyone, he opened a portal and through the Mists, he teleported to their location. And the moment he realized what he was seeing, his heart broke.

Chaton, lying motionless on the burnt rock, facing away from him. And all that blood. He couldn’t see it, but he could see it. All that blood…

He came down on his knees and gently took Chaton’s head in his hands and turned it to him. He couldn't see her. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there. Gone. The last threads of gold were leaving her body, disappearing into the air around her body. “Chaton…” Isil’s voice wavered. “My Little Star… please… please, don’t.” He shook his head, bringing the love of his life closer to him, as if just his closeness could bring her back. It hurt. It felt like his chest was going to burst, his heart to be ripped in pieces. He wrapped her closer, uncaring for the blood that now covered them both. She was gone. She was gone, now. Isil’s throat tightened, as he kept whispering her name. He didn’t want to believe it. Her dead body, in his hands. She wasn’t moving. “Please, don’t do this to me, love…” Isil ripped his blindfold off in the hopeless act that he might see her face, for the last time. But all that came was blinding light. He could feel tears falling down his cheeks. He couldn’t see her. His light was gone. Forever.

He traced his fingers around her face, recalling how she looked. Her smile, that wink she graced only him with, those eyes more vast and green than any field in Kryta.

Isil pressed their foreheads together. He lost her... again.

#writing #guild wars 2 #alternative ending #death #creative writing #gw2 #sylvari #human #revenant #yes I know Chaton means kitten in french #it wasn't me who named her #necromancer #reaper #balthazar #fuck balthazar

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