#I may have to return to this universe and flesh it out more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imyourbratzdoll · 11 months

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Ooh ohh! DarkSiren reader x pirate ransom!!! Pleasee

hello honey! this was fun to write, and I hope you like it!

summary - you are the siren that wants the famous pirate ransom drysdale, and the moment you get close to getting what you want, the universe decides otherwise.

warning - slight angst, stalking, dark content, mentions of whores, seducing, mentions of kidnapping.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You had known of the famous pirate that roamed the seas. You had followed him, watching from afar as he ordered his crew around. You watched as the many whorish human women tried and failed to gain his attention. Some only managed to get to his bed and were sent off the same night. You could see how dissatisfied the pirate was. As if he yearned for something more, something… Unique. You watched from the shadows. Your body is submerged deep in the cooling water. You knew that the humans had heard and created stories based on what you were, some even hunted you, and sometimes they succeeded in catching your kind. Your sisters had been taken, locked away to be experimented on.

You wanted the pirate. He was a dream. You wanted to claim him as your own. So you followed him the next morning, not getting too close to the ship as you didn’t want the others to spot you. You had a plan, knowing he sometimes ventured off alone once they reached land, enjoying time to himself. What better way to finally get what you want. You swam to shore, perching yourself on a rock away from the pirates but close enough to get the one you want to hear you. You waited until you heard him approaching the area, his mind elsewhere.

“Upon one summer's morning, I carelessly did stray,

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay,

Conversing with a bouncing lass, who seem'd to be in pain,

Saying, William, when you go, I fear you will ne'er return again.”

You watch as he turns to look in your direction. You can see him slowly fall under your spell as the words flow from your lips. You beckon him over, giving him an innocent smile as you don’t want to set off any alarms in his head. The pirate begins to make his way over dazedly, a lovestruck look in his eyes.

“His hair it does in ringlets hang, his eyes as black as sloes,

May happiness attend him wherever he goes,

From Tower Hill, down to Blackwall, I will wander, weep and moan,

All for my jolly sailor bold, until he does return.”

He stares, softly swaying as you continue to sing. Your siren voice makes the song sound smooth and seductive, calling to the pirate like water calls him. You sound like the waves crashing against the rocks and birds singing. You sound like perfection to Ransom. You were both a pirate’s dream and nightmare, all mixed in one. In the back of his mind, he knew he should try to fight this, that Ransom was in danger if he continued getting closer to you. He was captivated, his eyes taking in how beautiful you looked, your hair flowing freely in the breeze, your skin glistening against the sun, your breasts pushed together perfectly, and your tail was so close to perfection, the gold reflected wonderfully against it all.

“My father is a merchant—the truth I now will tell,

And in great London City in opulence doth dwell,

His fortune doth exceed ₤300,000 in gold,

And he frowns upon his daughter, 'cause she loves a sailor bold.”

Your voice travels, swirling around his head and pulling him closer to you. You were so close to finally getting the man you have been wanting. You grin as you reach your hand out and stroke his cheek, sighing a soft sigh as you finally feel his flesh against yours. He had to be the cleanest pirate out there, his face clean-shaven and his hair slicked back. You lean closer, your lips nearly touching his as you continue seducing him with your siren song.

“A fig for his riches, his merchandize, and gold,

True love is grafted in my heart; give me my sailor bold:

Should he return in poverty, from o'er the ocean far,

To my tender bosom, I'll fondly press my jolly tar.”

Ransom’s pupils enlarge, causing his blue eyes to nearly turn black. His eyes are half-lidded, and his gaze flickers between your eyes and your plump lips, feeling the deep desire to seal your words with a kiss. His mind was filled with love, wanting to take you far away from the other pirates, wanting you all to himself. His fingertips itched with needing to grab you and take you far away, keep you chained to his bed as he worshipped you.

“My sailor is as smiling as the pleasant month of May,

And oft we have wandered through Ratcliffe Highway,

Where many a pretty blooming girl we happy did behold,

Reclining on the bosom of her jolly sailor bold.”

A soft whine escapes Ransom’s mouth as you slowly slide off the rock and into the water, grinning as he begins to follow. He steps into the cooling ocean, and his shoes and pants become soaked. You swim back, continuing to sing to him. You were so close to achieving your dream, so very close.

“Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be

Who love a jolly sailor bold that ploughs the raging sea,

While up aloft, in storm or gale, from me his absence mourn,

And firmly pray, arrive the day, he home will safe return.”

Ransom goes deeper into the water, coming closer until your bodies touch, and his hands move to cup your cheeks, stroking them with his thumbs. He sighs, falling deeper and deeper under your spell. No longer worried about the world around him or that he is in incredible danger, Ransom didn’t know that his crew had begun to look around for him, wondering where their Captain had gone for so long.

“My name it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair,

And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year,

My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold,

There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold.”

You are so close, your lips inches away from each other. You sing the last words of your song, knowing you finally have him in the grasp of your hands. Yours and Ransom’s eyes flutter closed as you are about to kiss. But before your lips can touch, there are shouts, men running toward the area you are in. Your eyes fly open, and you snarl. Your cat-like eyes snap to the pirates, hissing as they shout at you, their weapons raised. You look sadly at Ransom, his eyes opened and watching you, and you quickly launch forward, placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth before flying back and deep into the depths of the ocean. You quickly swim away as the pirates begin to throw their weapons and help pull their Captain out of the water.

Ransom shakes his head, snapping out of the trance he was in and looking out into the water. His men are talking, pulling him from the ground, but all Ransom can focus on is you. You had now taken over his mind, and he didn’t know if it was because of your siren qualities or you. His face sets into a scowl, growling at his men to return to the ship and leave him alone. Ransom shrugs them off, brushing the sand off his clothes and glaring at the water. He watches as your head pops up a ways away. He can tell you are looking in his direction, and the challenge has started. He knows you want him, but now he wants you, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. It’s how he is the better pirate out there. No one can tell him no.

Stories would be told many generations later about the pirate and the siren.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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yandere-wishes · 3 months

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Opinion on the absolute ANCIENT history of Star Wars legends? Meaning Tulak Hord, Marka Ragnos and such

Anon I am SO SO SO SORRY this took me forever to answer. I loved the ask so much that I wanted to have the perfect mood and ambiance for when I answered it. Suffice it to say that that hasn't happened for a good while now. But I sincerely hope that you are still lurking around this blog and get a chance to see my response. I cannot express how excited this ask has made me!! I harbor an extremely unhealthy obsession with ancient Sith lords and their lore

I'm going to start off by saying that, if we were in the Star Wars universe I would have already become a Sith lord. Due SOLELY to how much Darkside lore I read~🖤❤️

I swear whenever I see a new Sith lord my brain goes: "Omg he's so ugly." Then he proceeds to live in my head rent-free for three days and on the third night, I find myself dreaming of making out with him... this has happened one too many times...It might be a little bit concerning. XD

Tulak Hord gives off major samurai vibes so I feel like he does follow some sorta Sith honor code. That being said he most likely acquires his darling as either a war trophy from some rival or conquered planet. Or she's a wide-eyed Acolyte who he can twist into his perfect darling.

He's also so pretty and I want to kiss him so badly!!

I'd love to be his little darling, a war trophy won in battle. Kept locked away within his fortress. A prize none but him are worthy to see.

After each bloody campaign, he returns to you, his starlight. A dividend that keeps him fighting, keeps him tethered to the dark side of the force. He fights to provide you with an empire, to win your praises at his many accomplishments.

Little does he know of the aversion you harbor for him.

Tulak Hord the monster who took everything from you.

No, but to be fair, I'd still be MADLY in love with him. Just imagine Lord Hord coming home from the battlefield, bloodied and still high off his bloodlust.

Imagine straddling him as you lovingly peel off his bloodied armor. Kissing his flesh every time it appears from under his armor. He'd run his clawed gauntlets over your back tracing your spine. Making you shiver from the frigid steel. Your warmth feels welcoming, innocent, he longs to corrupt it.

Then obviously kissing when you get to his helmet. Deep and passionate. Filled with hate and love. Out of fear, you've learned to play your role as a doubtful lover, a devoted wife, to a fault.

"The universe is more complicated than you could ever imagine, starlight. Be thankful that I've shielded you away from all its inconsistencies."

It's getting harder and harder to remember why you resist him so much. Why push him away when his presence is so overwhelming? Consuming you wholly.

"Thank you, my lord."

NOW...

If you were his Acolyte things would play out a bit differently. He'd have trained you for so many years. Building you up to be the ultimate weapon and simultaneously his ideal darling. You're too far gone, mistaking toxins for affection. You've learned to cherish every bruise and broken bone that comes from him.

You were such a naive little girl when he first took an interest in you. Now he's morphed you into the scourge of the battlefield. The mere mention of your name sends generals running away in fear.

He finds you after every campaign. Permits you the honor of washing his armor and tending to his wounds. Basking in the way your nimble fingers apply bacta to what little scars he may have received.

Tulak is such a tremendous master. Personally seeing to your wellbeing and recovery.

He pulls you onto his lap, kissing your open wounds as he stitches them for you. Sometimes he pulls his helmet up and plunges his tongue into the trauma lapping at the blood and broken muscles as he ravishes in your delightful moans. He'll whisper sweet praises into your ears, telling you how proud he is of all you've accomplished, what a stupendous sith lord you shall make someday, ruling by his side. All while his iron-clad fingers work bruises into your soft flesh.

You are his perfect little doll.

Tulak Hord's perfect little acolyte.

Would it be wrong to say that I kinda want to be Marka Ragnos' concubine? Or just his pretty little princess who's always at his beck and call!! Look he's literally a giant hulking red alien with golden horns... what's not to love!!

Plus I'd give anything to just sit on his lap as he holds court. Tracing patterns across his chest and relishing in the feeling of his claws scraping across your flesh, leaving his mark even when he's focused on galactic domination.

Prior to that Marka would totally dress you in the most ethereal dresses!! All lavish golds and blood reds. Somedays they'd be full-blown multilayered dresses and other days (when he wants to show a bit more dominance) he'll have you wearing danity silk dresses that show more skin than you are comfortable with.

He'd also shower you with praises throughout the day. Calling you his "sweet little princess" and "pretty girl". look getting called "pretty girl" by a sith lord is free therapy and I am HERE for it😤😍😤😍.

I also have this random headcanon that Marka Ragnose is (in some ways) a father figure to Vitita/Valkorion/Tenebrae. That being said it's only logical for Marka Ragnos' darling to be (younger) Vitita's mother figure. In a twisted forceful way, they're kinda like a happy family. Also forced Yandere family is one of my fav tropes, so I had to reference it here lol.

Okay, guys seriously this ask has made me so happy since the MOMENT I got it!! If anyone wants to send in asks for any Star Wars Sith lords (well-known ones, obscure ones, hated/loved ones) my ask box is wide open.

In conclusion, I've been collecting Sith Lords to simp over like an 8-year-old collects Pokemon cards. Sith lords are unconventionally HOT and I'd totally be down to be there sweet little darling !! Like please just let me be a Sith Lord's cute little side piece, the eye candy that hangs off his arm. His pretty little bunny girl that'll do anything to please him.

(*Concerningly looks down at the pride and self-respect I just smashed.* "Whoops...that wasn't supposed to happen")

Anon I think I answered your question with these little stories. I am very much IN LOVE with the ancient Sith lords. And it doesn't just stop at Tulak and Marka. I literally NEED a harm of Sith lords. Look they may not be conventionally handsome, but there's something about "the dark forces warping their appearance" that makes me go absolutely feral!! 🤣🤣😍😍

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spookikookiboo · 8 months

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Officer Dunn -FNAF Alternate Universe

@pudim-16-world asked " How does Dunn possess Glamrock Freddy in this AU?"

This was a really good question and one I wanted to tackle in semi-comic form. The version of events that lead to Officer Dunn possessing Glamrock Freddy are ones I have put my own twist on based loosely on the FNAF novel The Silver Eyes by Kira Breed-Wrisley and Scott Cawthon.

In my opinion Officer Dunn was a character that had a lot of potential and had an excellent base for true and meaningful motives that could have driven him and the FNAF lore forwards.

I’ll start with some background. Officer Robert ‘Bobby’ Dunn was new to the department in Hurricane, Utah. At the start of his career he had taken on a number of cold cases. One of which being Hurricane Utah’s most infamous, the disappearances of 5 children at local pizzeria, Freddy Fazbear’s.

Bobby dug into the evidence surrounding the events that transpired. He began investigating further, which led him to the doorstep of the then closed building that had once been operating as the restaurant in question. He made multiple trips to Freddy Fazbear’s and was able to uncover old files, blueprints of the building among other documents. All of which aided in fleshing out missing details from the original report.

The chief of police found out about Bobby’s ventures and advised against his continued digging. He was worried for his officer’s safety in a building that was legally condemned by the city. Despite this however Dunn returned to the restaurant, feeling he needed to take one last look.

It was raining hard the night Officer Dunn arrived at the rundown establishment. Upon going inside he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. Bobby made his way to the back office, in the hopes of retrieving files that may have been left behind. Employee records, spreadsheets, checkbooks, anything.

The next thing he knew his throat felt like it was burning and he couldn't breathe. The last thing he saw…was a rabbit. Decrepit and laughing wildly as it loomed over him while he bled out on the dirty checkered floor. Bobby’s world went dark… The moment that he was self aware he found himself standing in that office. With no concept of how much time had passed or- what happened to him. Thinking it had all been a strange dream he attempted to leave but each time he tried he would wind up right back where he started… in the office.

Bobby soon met them. The little ones. The children who had gone missing. First there was one…the bravest. Then there were two. Soon he was in the presence of more.

They were scared...Bobby realized almost like he had forgotten- that they were the reason he had come here. Any relief Bobby had felt by finding them evaporated when he realized they were like him. Gone…just not entirely.

Over time Bobby gained their trust, learned their names and heard their stories.

Each child had met the same golden rabbit dressed in purple who lured them away from their families and led them to their end. Bobby promised them that no matter what happened… he would protect them. He would not leave them and that somehow…he would see justice carried out.

They stuck together from that day forward, becoming some version of a family. Bobby had always wanted children and they needed him. The officer took it upon himself to ensure nothing happened to any of them. The children showed him the suits that their bodies had been hidden inside of. One of them… the bravest, had excitedly shown how he could manipulate the robot itself. Making it talk and do exactly as he wanted rather than whatever it had been programmed to do.

The Animatronics were their safe space, the item they felt secure to hide away in. Bobby, having not been stuffed into a suit at his end, had the freedom to move about where he saw fit…on an endless security patrol. After all, he had no reason to hide.

The case files that Bobby had looked into, stated that five children had gone missing from the Pizzeria but he had only met four. Gabriel who resided within Bonnie, Susie who remained within Chica, Fritz who hid inside of Foxy and Cassidy who took up residence inside Freddy. Cassidy was the only child who ever hid from Bobby, wanting nothing to do with him. She was aloof and untrusting. Angry and spiteful. She had died on her birthday and she definitely asserted herself to be the ringleader of the others at least for a time.

At first Cassidy would use the Freddy suit like the others but eventually she seemed to vanish entirely. Losing interest in the suit like a child outgrowing a toy. They all looked for her but never came back to them. It almost seemed as though she did not want to be found.

Bobby had thought maybe she had…passed on. Moved on, perhaps found peace? At least that is always what he had hoped was true. Though he was not entirely sure, sometimes he thought he could still hear her. Eventually with her absence persisting and the children wishing him to stay closer to them Bobby begain to occupy the Freddy Animatronic.

He has been inside every sense. Every rendition the mascot has undertaken , every upgrade. It's still him. Hiding like the rest of them. In plain sight but unseen.

Over the past forty years Dunn was able to put together the full story. Which quickly became stranger than fiction .

One of the founders of Fazbear Entertainment, William Afton, was responsible for the murder and disappearance of the children, Officer Dunn and countless others who had worked for the company. He was tried and acquitted of all charges…found not guilty by the courts due to the lack of evidence. Meaning he got away with it. He got away with all the lives he stole.

The justice system failed…but karma seemed to come back around for Afton. In a fitting twist of fate that man who had dismembered and stuffed the bodies of small children into the suits of animatronics met his end inside of one. He died…but he didn’t leave. He remained inside that crumpled bunny suit until Bobby walked into that office. Giving him a new victim.

William Afton’s soul lives on…free from meeting the justice for his actions and free to continue his twisted experiments within the catacombs of the pizzaplex. The children’s souls can not truly be at rest until he is gone for good and Officer Dunn has sworn to put an end to this cycle once and for all. Protecting everyone to the best of his ability, as he swore to do when he first donned the badge.

~Spooki🖤

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messedupfan · 7 months

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I'm With You| 12

Summary: After taking the time she needed in order to heal and figure herself out, Y/n is ready to move on from Natasha Romanoff.

A/N: Hello! Sorry I still don't have a proper chapter for Wonderstruck yet :( But here's one for this story! Hope y'all are doing well! Enjoy!

Masterlist | All Chapters | Taglist

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Several Months Later

Y/n tosses and turns in her bed, sweating profusely. Moans of discomfort can be heard in the room across from hers. Disrupting the Sokovian witch’s night practices. Wanda knew that if she wanted to access every ability possible, she had to keep discovering them. And with the amount of missions that she gets sent on lately, there wasn’t a lot of time to discover new abilities. She only got to practice and perfect what they knew how to help train her.

Another loud groan breaks her focus and she recognizes the sound. She quickly leaves her room to check on her friend. She knocks on the door a few times, calling out Y/n’s name. When there isn’t a response other than more pain noises, she uses her powers to unlock the door.

“Y/n!” she gasps. The girl's veins are glowing and her eyes are open but are replaced by a bright yellow light. She tries to access her mind from this distance but all she can get is a few flashes of images. She turns on the lights in the room and hurries to her friend's side. She looks at the girl's body from head to toe. The clothing she is wearing is burning off without flames. Revealing wounded flesh with veins glowing yellow. Wanda blinks a few times in hopes it was some bizarre hallucination. When it doesn't stop, she starts panicking, having no idea how to fix this.

“Okay, okay, you're going to have to trust me here,” she puts both hands over the burning stone and emits her red energy. “STOP!” She shouts.

The yellow glow travels up Y/n's veins and collects at the stone. Her eyes shut and they're normal when they open. Her temperature drops, her body absorbs the sweat, and her clothes return to normal. “Hey Wanda,” she says as if nothing has happened. She can tell that her friend is worried and she frowns, “What's wrong?”

“You,” she struggles to answer. “I-I,” she points to the door. “I was practicing in my room and heard something coming from here and the stone was doing something bad to you.”

“Oh!” Y/n sits up as she figures out how to explain that it wasn't anything bad. “It was showing me things, Wanda. I was safe,” she says.

“It didn't sound safe, definitely didn't look like it.” Wanda says skeptically.

“It doesn't feel pleasant, but it wasn't anything bad. I promise,” she vaguely explains as she moves off of the bed.

“What is it then?” She looks at her with apprehension. Wanda is concerned that her friend isn't being safe.

“In order to communicate with the stone, I have to let it connect with all of me. All it was doing was showing me things,” Y/n states calmly as she takes her friends hands. “It’s like you and your late night studies,” she compares. “I’m only trying to discover more about myself.”

“But you weren't just seeing yourself, there was more,” she recalls the flashes of people dying from what she was able to get from your mind. “What are you hiding?”

Y/n is hiding a lot, but she doesn’t know it. After discovering just how much knowledge she can find out through the stone, she couldn’t help but learn as much as she could. It was a bit overwhelming, but she liked discovering the endless possibilities. Know about the kinds of threats they may face. Find out what could happen at the team's next missions. Things like that. And though she was curious about her personal life, she enjoyed living each day as if she didn’t possess the ability to know beforehand. She also enjoyed learning about the secrets of the universe and the keys to life. However, she never got to keep a full conscious memory of these moments with the stone. She remembers a few bits of information here and there, but never enough to give her anxiety in her day to day.

So, when Y/n tells Wanda, “I’m not hiding anything,” she technically isn’t lying. Wanda believes her and drops the subject. “Have you been working on that healing trick I showed you?”

Wanda nods, “Yeah but,” she lets out a small laugh, “it’s tough to practice when I don’t have someone else to heal. And I don’t think harming myself is the answer.”

“No, that’s definitely not the answer,” Y/n giggles. “Well, we can start small. Look for injured animals and work from there.”

“We?” Wanda asks.

Y/n nods, “Of course, you shouldn't have to do this alone.” She reaches her hand out to Wanda who accepts it gratefully. The two gaze into each other's eyes with longing but neither does anything to get closer than they already are.

“I wish you were ready for me,” Wanda whispers.

Y/n gulps, her eyes drop to Wanda's lips and jump back to her green eyes. “I-” Her words are cut off as the emergency mission alarm and lights go off. “I swear, that's the worst thing my dad has ever invented.” She mutters as she drops her head.

Wanda laughs as she rubs Y/n’s arm. “I think it just saved you.”

Y/n shakes her head and lifts it to look Wanda in the eye again. “I don't need saving this time.” This catches the telepath's attention and instead of having the two of them rush off. She remains standing in front of her. Waiting for her to make a move. Y/n steps closer as a wave of nervousness washes over her. Just as she is about to kiss her, someone is banging on her door.

“Come on! It's an Avenger level threat!” Pietro says as he continues to slap his hand against the door. “Quit making out in there!” Wanda groans as everything continues to disrupt the moment and the two girls have to leave the room.

Wanda opens the door with an evil glare for her brother. “We weren't making out,” she says through gritted teeth. Pietro holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry, I thought Y/n was in there with Natasha again. I should've known it was you in there when I couldn't find you in your room. Well, we've got to go.” Pietro speeds off to the meeting room where everyone else should be. Wanda is thrown off by the information her brother had dropped so casually and she turns to Y/n.

“Why did Pietro think you would be making out with Nat?” Wanda says.

Y/n panics at the question and tries to divert the topic of conversation. “Come on, we're already running behind. We don't want to get in trouble,” she pulls Wanda out of her room and the telepath follows with a frown. She knows that something is wrong. She calls Y/n's name to try and get her back to the question but the girl expertly avoids the topic and when they get to the rest of the team there isn't time for questions like that. It was time to get serious about the mission.

As per usual, there isn't much time for a briefing, so they all pile into two separate quinjets. They used to only use one until it got destroyed in the middle of a mission and they had to wait around for hours for another to arrive. Except for Thor, he wished the team luck and called for Heimdall to transport him out of there. Those that have the ability to fly don’t typically fly long distances and they were exhausted from the fight.

Y/n buckles in and Wanda sits next to her so she doesn't miss when Natasha smirks at Y/n as she passes the girl on the way to pilot the jet. A look that she hasn't really seen from the former assassin. There was something going on and Wanda didn't like it. So, she breaks the rules and taps into Natasha's mind to get her answers.

“I can't do this again with you, Nat.” Y/n says as she enters her bedroom.

“Come on, Y/n. It's just one night. I know you miss me. I've seen you staring in training.” Natasha says as she dances her fingers on Y/n’s forearm. Referring to the other day when she was teaching Wanda some hand to hand combat moves. Natasha came up to her when the young Stark returned from a night out. She was tired of spending all of her time in the Avengers tower so she went out with Wanda and Pietro to show them around the city. It was a magical time. “I miss you, Y/n,” Natasha admits softly. “You’re the only person who knows how to make my toes curl.”

Y/n scoffs as she moves around the room, “Ah so you were having bad sex when you were cheating on me.” She removes her watch and sets it in her case of watches. Wanda remembers playing with it during dinner. Natasha closes her eyes as she tries not to let the words hurt. They come from a place of pain that she caused and she knows that it's going to take a long time to heal. “Look, Nat. I don't know why you're here. Don't you have your agreement with Hill or even some other agent? If you're that desperate for a lay, I'm sure you can find anyone to screw you if you walk into a place and ask.”

Natasha is surprised by the way Y/n is speaking to her. “Wow, I never thought you'd be a slut shamer.”

Y/n sighs, “I’m not shaming and I’m not calling you a slut. I'm making a suggestion. I don't want you, but plenty of people out there do. Go proposition one of them.”

Natasha steps in front of Y/n when she tries to leave the room. “I don't want any of them. I never have. I didn't even want Hill. I want you, I only ever want to be with you. Y/n, you're the only person I've ever given my heart. That means something to me. Please, give me another chance to show you how much I care about you.” She places her hand on Y/n’s chest and stares deeply into her eyes and Y/n can see that she is being genuine.

However, genuine or not it doesn't change the fact that Y/n is falling for someone else. That she is starting to forget the girl that allowed Natasha to string her along for so long. “Nat, I-” her words are cut off by Natasha's lips. The feeling is unfortunately something that Y/n's body misses. She was touch starved, other than a few stolen touches between her and Wanda, Y/n hasn't been in any romantic physical contact in months. She pulls away from Natasha for a second and looks at the woman's face and is filled with a strong anger and surprisingly, a strong desire for her.

Y/n pulls Natasha into another kiss and the Black Widow is excited to be getting her way. She knew that she would be able to convince her somehow. The two continue to kiss aggressively and Y/n walks Natasha into a wall. She rips Natasha's shirt down the middle to expose her bra covered chest and she feels a familiar tingle at the sight.

That's when Pietro struts in and interrupts the interaction. Snapping Y/n out of her lustful haze. “Shit,” she curses under her breath as she steps away from Natasha, feeling as though a bucket of ice water was just dumped on her. “I, shit, I have to get out of here.”

Wanda leaves Natasha’s mind and looks at Y/n with concern and a bit of betrayal. She didn’t understand why Y/n would cave into Natasha’s advances like that. Especially after spending a day with her and Pietro. Was Y/n playing Wanda the way she was played by Natasha? Did she mean it when she said that she had feelings for Wanda? She feels so much better about the kiss being interrupted. Wanda is certain that she would be much more upset if she had to find this out after thinking that Y/n only wanted her.

Y/n is panicking about how to explain what happened to Wanda. She knew that she was always going to have to explain herself but she thought she had more time. Y/n looks over at Natasha and she can't believe she let herself get caught up in the Black Widow's webs of deception. It was a mistake. She doesn't want Natasha. She wants Wanda. She looks away from Natasha and looks to Wanda, she notices the ring of red that glows in her irises when she's using her powers. Y/n knows what Wanda is doing and part of her is upset that she isn't being allowed the moment to explain. But she had the chance and she deflected.

When it looks like Wanda is done finding what she is looking for, Y/n gives the girl a moment to process. She hopes she can see that Y/n fought the advances. Hopes that she stopped at the first kiss but prepares herself for if she didn't. In the intercom there is an update on the estimated time of arrival. Y/n doesn't want either her or Wanda to be distracted on the mission so she takes the chance now. “Wanda, I know what you saw in there but please give me a chance to explain after the mission.” Y/n pleads in a low voice.

“I don't know why I should,” she responds in a cold tone.

“I can't give you a reason, Wanda. All I can do is ask,” Y/n says softly. “Please give me a yes or no before we have to hop out of here? I don't want any lives lost or at risk because I'm distracted.”

Wanda scowls and scoffs, having taken offense, “Don’t use the mission to manipulate an answer out of me!”

“That’s not what I meant. I'm sorry,” Y/n sighs, feeling defeated. “I just, will you please hear me out?”

Wanda looks into Y/n's eyes and feels a little guilty for her outburst. But she is still hurt. How can she trust someone that was raised by a womanizer? For all she knows, it's just in her nature to treat people this way. Unless it was truly a mistake. People make mistakes. Maybe she can forgive the young Stark for this one mistake. “We can talk after,” she finally says as she unbuckles her seat to get ready to hop out of the jet.

“Thank you,” Y/n says as she prepares herself as well.

The mission takes longer than anyone anticipated. There were more people with more illegal alien type weapons than anyone could have predicted. The advanced weapons even affect the strongest of Avengers. When Y/n is hit in the arm with one of the laser beams, it hurts her and it leaves an open wound. Something she hasn't experienced since before the stone. She uses it to get rid of as many of the perpetrators as possible but while she is focused on the ones in front of her. Another sneaks up on her side and fires at her before she kills him. Y/n falls to the ground and Wanda rushes to her side.

“If you think you can get out of explaining yourself, you are mistaken,” Wanda says as she gets the two of them into a hiding spot that is safe from the battle. It wasn't supposed to go this far. It was meant to be a simple infiltration into an illegal arms base. But it turned out to be an ambush. Wanda tries her healing technique on Y/n’s arm first before she attempts to get to the bigger one on her side. “I know you said that you would help with my training but this isn't what I had in mind.”

Y/n gives a weak smile, “Trust me,” she coughs, “I didn't want to be your guinea pig either.” She flinches as Wanda's magic stings. Y/n can feel every cell in her arm being manipulated into healing faster than what's natural. She doesn't understand. When it was the stone healing her, it was painless. She never felt the injuries, never felt the repair. Now however, whatever is in those weapons is working against her abilities. The pain slowly subsides and the magic begins to work on closing the wound. Y/n sighs from the relief. “Thanks, Maximoff.”

“It's nothing, Stark. How does that feel now?” Wanda asks as she rubs her thumb on the small scar that's been left behind. Maybe once they're done with the mission it will go away. At least she hopes it does. Y/n was the most indestructible out of all of them and it worries her that she is affected by these weapons.

“Better,” Y/n whispers, breaking the girl in front of her out of her thoughts. Y/n licks her lips as she stares at the girl that has healed her far too many times to keep track of. She knows that she has a lot of explaining to do but right now, she needs to show Wanda how she feels before it's too late. As the telepath begins to focus on healing the big wound on Y/n's side, the young Stark surprises her by finally pulling Wanda into a kiss.

It's sweet and short as there isn't much time when they're trying to save the world from the monsters outside of the wall, but it's just as passionate. “What was that for?” Wanda asks as they break apart.

“Just in case one of us doesn't make it out,” Y/n whispers. Not wanting this to be the moment she tells her how deep her feelings run for the Sokovian woman.

Wanda shakes her head with a scowl and a deep frown as she starts working on the wound again, “Don’t think like that.”

“Okay, I'm sorry,” Y/n says sincerely. She groans as this one is much worse to fix than the one on her arm. When she is patched up, she gets back to action.

It takes until Tony comes up with a great strategy that the team is able to come out on top and Y/n finds out why her abilities were stunted. There was a device that emitted a certain type of sound waves that distorted the stone and cost her the ability to heal. She wanted to destroy it but thought maybe if she were to study it, she could create a device to help her detect other devices like it, if there are such a thing.

On the flight home, Wanda and Y/n are separated in order to heal those that wanted a rapid fix. Some people still preferred to be looked after by Dr. Helen Cho because they wanted to help further her research for the benefit of the rest of humanity. Y/n is glad that they trust Wanda enough in her abilities to take care of them even though she is still learning how to use them. Wanda is grateful for the extra practice.

Arriving back to the tower, Y/n wants nothing more than to shower. Feel the warm water rain down on her skin. She drops the device she got on the mission off at the lab and makes a b-line to her room. She hops in the shower and feels refreshed as she thinks about the kiss she shared with Wanda. It fills her entire body with a joy and giddiness that she hasn't experienced in some time.

When Y/n walks out of the shower, Wanda is sitting on her bed waiting patiently. “I would have joined you in there but I didn't want you to think you were off the hook,” Wanda says with a straight face.

The corner of Y/n's mouth lifts a little bit. She knows that her love interest was being serious so it doesn't sit there for long. “The kiss didn't mean anything to me.” She starts as the towel she was wearing disappears into a shirt and sweatpants.

“Which kiss are you talking about, Y/n? Mine or her's?” Wanda tilts her head to the side with her arms crossed.

Y/n wants to roll her eyes at the attitude she is receiving while she is trying to be vulnerable but she knows this is only coming from a place of hurt. “Hers, I didn't want her-”

“It certainly looked like you did,” she interrupts and Y/n sighs.

“Wanda, this is only going to work if you hear me out. If you don't want to listen, then I don't know what we're doing here,” Y/n says with a frown as she sits next to Wanda on the bed. “I thought you wanted to talk about this.” As Y/n looks at the face that usually sparks joy in her heart, she realizes that there is something off about her. Y/n’s vision changes and she can see the face technology on Natasha and she cannot believe that the spy would stoop so low.

“I honestly can't look at you anymore without thinking about what you did,” Natasha turns her face away from Y/n and the younger woman plays along with her. Y/n puts a hand on her shoulder and Natasha pretends to recoil from it. “Don’t touch me!” She stands dramatically. “I honestly can't even be in the same room as you!” Natasha storms out and Y/n falls on her bed with her hands on her face feeling emotionally exhausted. She doesn't understand why, after she is finally no longer chasing Natasha, the former assassin won't leave her alone now.

There is a soft knock on the door and Y/n's heart flutters as her body recognizes the energy entering the room. “Hey, are you ready to talk?” Wanda's soft voice relaxes Y/n’s muscles as the girl joins the other on the bed. “What’s wrong?” Y/n leans into her delicate touch as Wanda combs through her hair with her fingers.

Y/n removes her hands from her face and scans Wanda’s just to confirm in her mind what her body already knows. This is Wanda. “Nothing, now that you're here,” she whispers softly.

Wanda smiles a little but she can't neglect the reason she is here. “I need to hear your side before I can let you say those kinds of things,” she says as she continues to stroke Y/n's hair, soothing away all of the negativity she felt moments ago. Y/n nods.

“Natasha caught me off guard at a bad time. I don't know how much you saw but I had a lot of sexual tension built up from our outing,” Y/n gestures between them, “and when she kissed me, the lust took over. I shouldn't have let it and I'm sorry that I didn't stop it sooner. I don't want Natasha. I want to be with you. There is no excuse for what I did. I just hope that you can forgive me.”

Wanda takes a shaky breath, it's hard to digest the information that was just given to her. She knows that she loves Y/n but she feels as though she has lost a bit of trust for her. She saw how quickly that annoyance in the girl's eyes turned to desire. Maybe it was the body reacting according to the nature of the relationship. But how is she supposed to know that given a similar circumstance in the future, Y/n won't have the same reaction? What if there is no one to stop it before it goes too far next time? The answer is that she is supposed to trust Y/n. But can she? Wanda doesn't know yet.

“Why did I see her coming out of your room just now?” Wanda asks next.

“She was pretending to be you, having a bad version of this conversation.” Y/n admits and Wanda can tell that you're being truthful.

Wanda gets momentarily playful. “Oh? And how was she? Convincing?”

Y/n laughs, “For a woman with so many skills, being you definitely isn't one of them. I could tell it was a facade.”

This makes Wanda feel a little better. Maybe that kiss was a one time mistake. Is she willing to put her heart at risk? Wanda begins to stroke Y/n's face as she admires the girl's features. If she's honest with herself, she knows that her heart has been at risk long before now. If she didn't want to get hurt, she shouldn't have grown closer to the woman laying beneath her. “I forgive you,” she softly replies.

By the door, Natasha was listening. She thought she had pulled off her act flawlessly and she was returning as herself to collect her reward. She didn't bank on Wanda showing up. Her jaw tightens as she sees Y/n getting the love and attention she deserves, and it's not coming from Natasha. That should be her in the room right now. Part of her knows she should let the girl go, but something else tells her that the two of them are meant to be. She leaves them be for the time being as she thinks about how she can win Y/n over again.

Meanwhile, Wanda and Y/n are making each other laugh as they touch each other lovingly. Y/n is still laying awkwardly on the bed with her feet planted on the floor as she is bent on the edge. And Wanda is sitting next to her with one leg on the bed and the other on the floor. Y/n dances her fingers on Wanda's thigh as Wanda's travel down the girl's face to her neck.

“Am I going to have to wait until our first date to kiss you again?” Y/n asks licking her lips as her eyes flit between Wanda's enchanting green eyes and her perfect lips.

“Well, that depends. When is this first date happening?” She leans in teasingly as she moves her hand across Y/n's shoulder and down her bicep. She lifts the sleeve a little to take a second to check if the scar is there. She is relieved to see that it's gone.

“I was thinking this weekend, if the criminal masterminds are nice enough to give us the day off,” she says as she puts the soft fabric of the hem of Wanda's shirt between her fingers. “How does Friday sound?”

“Mmm,” Wanda pretends to consider the questions. “Do you think you can go that long without kissing someone?” The playful look in her eyes makes Y/n giggle.

“Wow! Now I feel like I shouldn't kiss you just to prove a point,” Y/n says as she tries to pout but her smile doesn't let her.

“You can do that,” Wanda says in a simple tone. “Or you can just kiss me already.”

With the okay, Y/n stops playing with the shirt and puts her hand on Wanda's hip. “That’s all I needed,” she leans up and Wanda leans down so the two of them can share a sweet kiss once again. As their lips meet, their minds go blank, only focusing on the way the other is making them feel. Wanda feels comfortable and giddy at the same time. Like this has been something that the girls have always done while still feeling the excitement of finally being able to kiss her. While Y/n is feeling safe for the first time and not worrying about what this kiss means, she knows exactly what this kiss means and that is so freeing.

Wanda and Y/n break away from the kiss and smile at each other. “Yeah, I don't think I can go three days without that,” Y/n says as she starts to lean in for more. “But I only want kisses from you.”

“Good,” Wanda kisses her once, “because I won’t put up with you kissing anyone else anymore.” She kisses her again and Y/n cannot believe her luck. She was so close to losing this chance and she wasn't going to mess this up.

Chapter 13

Taglist: @fanficaddictcore @username23345 @randomnessbecausewhynot @h0peswrld @doudouneverte @zudaka

#imwithyou #messedupfan fics #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff au #wanda x you #wanda marvel #wanda x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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freaky-flawless · 4 months

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The return of some old faces

I finally got around to fleshing them out, so here's some more info on them under the cut:

They're all students at New Salem University and share a dorm room together. Demonique and Luci have been longtime friends, attending elementary and middle school in Hell before transferring to Monster High together, while Fangel is newer to the friend group, but feels as though she's always belonged with these ghouls.

Fangel attended Belfry Prep her whole un-life until she was able to escape that stuffy and intolerant environment once she graduated and started college. She never agreed with traditional vampire values, and always kept friends outside of school that were different monster types, and she's absolutely thriving in campus life.

Demonique may or may not have feelings for her vampire friend, but knows that she's already in a happy and committed relationship, and so she keeps her feelings hidden. Aside from that she's super chill and often the voice of reason. She's also incredibly creative, and is apart of all kinda of clubs on campus.

As Lucifer's eldest child, Luci is set to become the new ruler of Hell once her father retires. She's actually pretty hyped about it, and figures a business degree will help her become an effective ruler. She's the campus's resident party girl, and given her popularity, she's known for throwing the biggest college parties around. Given her status, she's able to get away with more than the average student, but she tries not to abuse this power too much.

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estinininininen · 1 month

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• Cecil says he can't believe this is how he returns to Baron. Considering it was either going to be dead or in chains, yeah, same

• everybody in FFIV fandom just kinda . . . forgets that Yang can have all the same delicious mind control angst as Kain. It's understandable, though. Monk isn't as (unreasonably) charismatic a class as Dragoon (HOW ARE THEY SO COOL?), and Yang has his personal life sorted out, unlike Kain and his mountain of bullshit

• lmao Tellah uses the Devil's Road and immediately wants to take a nap

• all of Baron was told Cecil died but Dark Knight Cecil has one fan boy child, cutie pie still believes in his ominous hero figure coming back to set things . . . well I don't know how much you can reasonably expect a dark knight in FFIV universe to set things right, it's pretty vague

• i remember more people recognizing cecil but he's on the DL and i think that's after cagnazzo

• considering rosa's mum may be the closest thing to a mother cecil has ever had, if you use a bit of fanon, it's disappointing they don't interact more than to imply cecil stonewalls her about rosa's kidnapping. which, i mean, that forwards my agenda that cecil locks up about anything personal so hard he regularly shoots himself in the foot. picking over the tiniest characterization hints to flesh out this funky little paladin. stoic man. constipated little fellow

#ffiv #ffiv ds liveblog #kain highwind #yang ffiv #cecil harvey

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eslanes · 6 months

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𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕥 𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪

So I got this story stuck in my head, a little spinoff about Faelern going home to Chestnut Ridge for the first time in 20 years due to his father being sick. It would follow his homecoming and explore relationships within his family and get into why he was away for so long. I don't know if I'll ever get time to flesh this out in game but I got inspired and made his whole family.

I had fun doing the family reunion challenge a while back so I did another one. Check out under the cut if you're interested in who's who and a little more about our ever-gloomy Faelern.

Faelern Adan 'the prodigal son' - Leaving home at a young age due to strained familial relationships, Faelern spent most of his adulthood immersed in his studies, obtaining a doctorate in Anthropology and becoming the youngest tenured professor in his department at the University of Britechester. As touched a tiny bit in A Devil Between Us, Faelern spent several years happily married to Laelia, who was tragically murdered during a home invasion 12 years prior. Evidently this devastated Faelern and he hasn't been the same since. This also may be a contributing factor to his intense and chaotic relationship with walking disaster Ms. Aida Fairbairn several years later. Faelern is the third of his father's children.

Sicheii Holt 'the patriarch' - While much calmer in his old age, the eldest member of the Holt family was once a notorious womanizer, creating an extremely tense relationship with his now-deceased wife and mother of Faelern's siblings. This only increased when it was discovered that one of his affairs resulted in a child (uh oh). Exponentially so when said illegitimate child was sent to live with Sicheii and his family after the sudden death of his mother at the age of five. While Sicheii was a generally a good father, his transgressions definitely impacted the family, creating complicated relationships all around (hurrah). At the beginning of the spinoff, he would be severely ill, resulting in Faelern's homecoming.

Atsa Holt 'the golden child' - Atsa, the eldest of Sicheii's children, adored his father from the time he was born. And Sicheii adored his son, spending most of their time hunting and fishing together. Everything changed when Atsa was eight, when younger half-brother Faelern came to live with the family and ruined his idyllic childhood. Atsa blamed his brother for his parents' fighting and shattering the vision he had of his father. Instead of focusing his anger on Sicheii, Atsa turned his resentment towards his half-brother, letting him know he was an enemy and would never belong. As a result, the boys were never close and fought frequently. As an adult, Atsa continues to carry a major chip on his shoulder and does not acknowledge his brother as kin. He is furious that Faelern had the audacity to show his face in Chestnut Ridge.

Emmaline Holt 'the gossip queen' - Emmaline is Atsa's wife. Much more outgoing and cheerful than her husband, she's often the organizer of family gatherings and parties (she's always knows all the good gossip). Having never met her newly-returned brother-in-law, Em cannot believe that Atsa would treat him so poorly after being away for so long. Between me and you, Atsa will be sleeping on the sofa for a while.

Jacy Holt 'the wild child' - Atsa's and Emmaline's 9-yo daughter. Twin sister to Mato and the loud one of the two. You'll usually find her annoying her father or on the playground with her friends.

Mato Holt 'the bookworm' - The quiet, bookish twin and Atsa's constant reminder of his half-brother. The kid is exactly like his uncle Faelern in his interests and demeanor, much to his father's dismay. Mato would much rather be reading in his room than socializing.

Tallulah Holt 'the dutiful daughter' - Tallulah is the eldest sister, a no-nonsense, tough as nails matriarch with one son of her own. While not particularly close to her half-brother as children, she feels a deep sense of duty to her family and is angered that Faelern would turn his back on them for so long. She has her hands full at the moment, trying to parent the rebellious and surly teenaged Kai as a single parent all while managing her 17 mlm businesses.

Kai Holt 'the rebellious teen' - Kai is going through a major rebellious phase. The 16 year old has discovered hair bleach, Nirvana and his mother Tallulah at her wits end with him.

Tahoma Holt 'the jokester' - The running joke in the family is that youngest brother was named after his father's beloved pickup truck (true). Tay is loud, boisterous and the family goofball. A contractor by day, he spends his nights at open mics across the region workshopping his comedy routines, with big dreams of becoming a comedy writer. Unlike the elder siblings, Tay doesn't remember life without his half-brother, and is actually happy to see him again.

Doli Holt 'the baby sister' - Doli is the youngest Holt child by many years. Currently working as a receptionist, Doli has dreams of going to university in the city, just like her older brother, whom she hasn't seen since she was a kid. Having been born after Faelern arrived in the family, Doli only has good memories of her brother.

Auntie Deborah and Uncle Des Holt 'the elders' - Auntie Deborah and Uncle Des are known as well-respected healers in the community and stable and a positive influence on all the kids. That said, now that they're all adults Des won't stop trying to push his homegrown weed on his nieces and nephews. Tahoma says it tastes like burning hair.

#the sims 4 #ts4 #faelern

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changelingirl · 7 days

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Summer Schoolmistress (a fallen london lore post)

This is the result of me and @mayli-song throwing things back and forth as soon as she got released. The Summer Schoolmistress is a Whitsun special and costs Fate so everything is below the cut, but LETS TALK ABOUT TREES!

First: some of the Fun Clues that tip you off to, and then outright state, what she is physically! This part isn't really up for debate. She's a tree. She'll tell you outright. (Why a tree looks like a person is another question. Gijinka headcanons real question mark.)

She rests her fingers in a bowl of black liquid on a side table, and lets them drink like the roots of a tree. Her flesh goes taut and strained, and she shudders.

Once you've watched her kids a few times, you can ask her what she is and actually get a response; funny enough, she starts off with the weird esoteric stuff and then becomes more understandable. From "asking about her nature":

She picks up a teacup. The cup is miniscule in her palm. "I was not born in the usual way. It was a subtractive process: all acts of consumption have their byproducts. Accidents. Waste. I am the remnant of one such consumption." The teacup rattles the saucer as she sets it down without taking a sip.

From asking her why she cares for all the Whitsun babies:

"I know a little of parental duty. Of how it feels when it is not upheld. I will not permit such failings while I am able to prevent them."

(Given that she outright states that the Bazaar is her parent, and the Whitsun children, at least some of them, are also sentient and aware of their parentage--from the Tracklayer city plotline--I put my first speculation here, regarding her motive; she lives outside the city, but still near it, and watches the children. She both resents the Bazaar and yet refers to the Sun in a derogatory way for not coming back to it. Very eldest-daughter-who-had-to-raise-her-siblings energy, complete with the very complicated feelings about your parent that it can instill if you're aware of whatever they're going through and yet still had to raise your siblings.)

When you can finally ask her about the Bazaar;

..."Four catastrophes in, and not a one has seen it yet – the Bazaar is a saprotroph, and drains his cities dry." Are you imagining it, or is there now less tea in her cup? "One thing would sustain him truly." She looks to a painting of the Sun, hung above the mantle, and closes her eyes. "But he is too immature and craven to return."

A saprotroph is a fungus, or another organism that feeds on dead bodies. I think this is probably more metaphorical than anything. She speaks in plant metaphors a LOT.

This is also the part where she's rude to the Sun.

Eventually, she'll tell you about her mother.

"In some ways, I am my mother. In many others, I am not." Her voice is soft; her gaze distant. "She was the oldest tree in London when it fell. Her roots are my roots." A long pause. "We all grow where we may, and accept any kindnesses we can. You, I think, have been kind."

And returning to the first thing she said;

"My birth was a process of subtraction. All that remembered the Sun was wrung from my parent like water from a sponge, to satisfy his unrequited pining."

So; the oldest tree in London. The Bazaar took the part of the tree that remembered the sun, and she is what's left. (Not sure yet whether this is more of a graft/cutting situation or if she is literally the same tree in a Rose Quartz/Steven Universe kinda deal. It honestly sounds more like the latter with how she describes it, but she talks in a very roundabout metaphorical way pretty constantly.)

Anyway the oldest tree in London is called the Totteridge Yew;

Now technically, this tree is located outside of London city, in the suburb of Totteridge. I briefly toyed with trying to figure out whether it would've been taken in the Fall before Mayli put me on the right path once again, via Mutton Island's trees. At one point when bringing back supplies, Summer brings back a withered apple; one of the only places in London where apple trees are still growing, however badly, is Mutton Island.

Mutton Island was stated to previously have been a suburb of London; the word resembles Totteridge in the kind of loose way that a lot of Fallen London's location names resemble their surface counterparts. And more importantly, Totteridge is located in Barnet--and Low Barnet is located right underneath Mutton Island.

Conclusion: I think I can pretty safely say that the Summer Schoolmistress's mother is the Totteridge Yew. Also, RIP to all those suburbs in between central London and Totteridge that presumably just kinda fell into the Zee.

#fallen london #fallen london spoilers #whitsun #whitsun spoilers #fate spoilers #fl spoilers #meta

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zestymimblo · 7 months

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Writeblr - ReIntroduction

Howdy howdy! I figured I'd type one of these out again because I'm trying to be more active on here, and also pushing myself to indulge in my passion for writing again... this helped last time, so I may as well give it another shot.

My name is Milo (he/xe) and I'm an aspiring author. I've always loved writing, and there's never been a point in my life where I didn't want to write in some capacity. It's easy for me to succumb to writer's block, but writing makes me happy and I want to be able to share what I create.

About Me

I'm a 21 year old (very gay) transman from Canada, and I want so badly to be able to travel to other parts of the world one day.

I'm a D&D nerd. When I struggle with a writing project, I often fall back on expanding my D&D worlds/characters. It's my safety net.

My career is in film. I work in the Art Department, mainly in props, and am working towards maybe becoming a Production Designer one day. Film work is a competing passion of mine, and you'll definitely find posts of me talking about work.

Like most other authors, I love weird shit, and you'll find a lot of weird stuff in my writing. Weird Fantasy is my favourite kind of genre.

In my writing you'll find themes of 2SLGTBQIA+, found family, fighting destiny, struggling under mega-corps/capitalism, nature vs nurture, self-discovery, different kinds of love, slightly unsettling surroundings, and weird lil monsters/freaky dudes.

My Current Projects

I have two writing projects going on right now. One I had to put on the backburner because I had written myself into a corner. The story wasn't progressing or flowing the way I had envisioned/planned, and I ended up getting more stressed than excited to write it. The other is one more laid-back for me to write. (Keep in mind, these short descriptions may be subject to change in the future)

The Strings of Willis Manor: Thistle Willis is sick. Her condition leaves her confined to the property of Willis Manor; a sprawling estate with lush gardens, dusty libraries, and secret corridors. At her attendance is Clementine (an automata handmaid, who was created with the sole purpose of tending to Thistle) and Andromeda Marrow (Thistle's childhood best friend). When her father doesn't return from a business trip to the South, Thistle's mother begins to fear the worst. In an effort to find a cure for her daughter, and establish Thistle as the head of the family business, Mama hires a Healer from an unknown land. But this cloaked Healer isn't who they say they are, and Thistle begins to uncover what really may be going on in the house she thought she could call home.

(Backburner) - Beneath Tattered Flesh: In the hissing, polluted, Magic, and bronze city of Ritec, Caesar Dampton is trying to move forward. He's trying to get over a bad break-up, make ends meet, and help his best friend - Emersyn Riley - find her place in the world. Between running away from his ex, and trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life, Caesar is stuck in a downward spiral. Newt Gourdeau got the chance of a lifetime; a full scholarship to Verne Cobb University. Leaving their small town behind, they carved out a life for themself in the city of opportunities. They're trying to bury their problems in mystery novels, university studies, and attempting to find a scientific reason as to why some people in this world have Magic, while others don't. Their obsessions leave them in solitude for days. But when the unlikely pair see similar tragic events happen at the same time, but in different parts of the city, they stumble into each other's lives. Manipulation and death follow the two at every step, but they're both determined to get to the bottom of a gruesome mystery unfolding in the city... or die trying.

What I'm Looking For

As you could probably already tell, I'm not awesome at keeping myself "on schedule", which is code for "I sometimes let my life/anxiety/career/whatever eat away at my passion for writing and I'll abandon it for several months a time". Having a place to post updates, or even just little rambles, really helps me out.

So in all honesty, if you're interested in what you see, then feel free to stick around! I'd love to chat, do fun word tags, and just be in a community of like-minded people.

Thanks for reading!

#queer writers #writeblr #my writing #writing #creative writing #writer #writers on tumblr #beta reader #writeblr intro #writeblr community

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 1 year

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Thank You and Goodbye

Hello everyone, I suppose you have all noted that the Empyrean iris stories have finally ended. I sincerely hope that all of you enjoyed what I had to offer and that I helped to bring some enjoyment to your life. In return I thank you all for everything you have done for me, and thank you most for the people who interacted with the story with questions comments and likes. Some of you have private messaged me, and said the nicest things that have helped me to keep going through the years. I cannot say how much I appreciate you.

A few things before I leave, I am leaving the Empyrean Iris universe on this blog for anyone who wishes to read, start reading or keep reading. You are free to play with the Empyrean Iris universe all you wish, as well as with its characters and locations. As long as credit is left where credit is due.

I will not be writing for this series again, though I may post some art if the thought takes me. I will still have access to this blog to answer questions and interact, so PM me here if you want, I will most likely be available.

The past few years have made me a much better writer.The change in my skill from beginning to end is incredible, but one of my greatest regrets is I never got to show you all what I could really do. These short form stories, written early in the morning before school sometimes lacked the quality I know that I can produce, maybe not grammatically, but at the very least you all never got to see my true writing abilities at their full potential: writing abilities I gained thanks to this series and thanks to you.

So with that in mind I have made a decision. I want you all to see the fruits of my labor, and what this series has done to its author (if you care to look, I wont force anyone :). But down below I will post chapter 1 of two independent side projects I have worked on during the time of this series. The first is a book I worked on sometime during the middle of the series, and that I finished more than a year ago which I plan on posting online to wattpad and A03 in the coming months, the second is the first chapter from my most recent project and which I hope to traditionally publish some day. I hope that at least one or two of you might read them and see the change in me that has resulted from this series

Chapter 1

Children of the Affliction

The Outbreak moved up the street in a wave of fetid flesh, their feet shuffling in an uncoordinated, stilted shamble as they dragged their diseased bodies through the ankle-deep filth of Veerus city.

As they walked, they moaned softly, their rotting vocal cords shivering with every breath they took.

The outbreak was not a quiet thing, and Eli was thankful for that as he pressed his back against the desiccated crumbling wall of the rotting city, as desiccated as its occupants.

He crouched low, but didn’t allow his hands to touch the ground and the filth that rested there. He closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath before peering out from the crack in the wall.

And so they continued on their shuffling, staggering way, their red decomposing flesh peeling back from rotting bone. A tidal wave of rancid air fogged up the lenses of his glasses with a stench so vile he had to swallow to keep from gagging. It was the kind of smell that burrowed its way into your nose like hungry maggots,leaving a sour penetrating taste behind on your tongue.

Eli wiped his glasses silently with a hand, and immediately regretted his ability to see as he watched a pale worm wriggle its way from the rotting folds of what had one been a nose, only to twist wetly before turning back to slither between ragged, purulent lips..

Eli turned away from the hole pressing his back against the wall and covering his nose and mouth with a hand. He forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, an action which he immediately regretted as the filth rose up to seep into his nose and mouth.

Their groaning grew distant, and a small voice hummed in his ear.

“I thought you said you weren’t afraid of the Outbreak.”

His mouth was watering, a sure sign he was about to throw up. He let the saliva drip from his mouth and onto the ground, where it couldn’t cause him to vomit.

“Just because I’m not afraid of them doesn’t mean I want to give one a hug.”

“And all of this isn’t fear?.”

“This isn’t fear, this is nausea. Those things are disgusting. Why anyone would willingly serve Affliction is beyond me.” He looked down to where a large baleful eye peered out from under the flap of his satchel.

The Eye blinked wetly once and then twice before “The same could be said about people who willingly visit affliction.”

Eli sighed, “You of all people should know that our visit here is hardly willing.”

The eye rolled at him, “Still going on about your father are you.”

Eli’s shoulder’s stiffened slightly jaw tightening even as his fingers went white around the strap of his bag, “This isn’t just about that and you know it.”

“Your Hope,” the eye said, his voice a high pitched reedy quaver through the fog “Your little obsession always seems to bring us to the most loathsome cesspits: hiding under rocks or in the bowls of trees.”

Eli adjusted his glasses, “This entire world is a Cesspit, Wink. and it isn’t hope it’s research. Hope is blind without action, research might just be able to help me before ....” Eli trailed off then not entirely willing to voice the concerns that had become so pressing in the proceeding months. Instead, adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel and stepped down from the crumbling building and onto the street below. He tried not to think about how his feet squished through the filth or how his weight seemed to depress against the soil, as if he was walking across great slabs of meat.

A pallid mist rose up around them, and he was thankful for the protective shroud he wore over his face. It didn’t keep out the smell, but he was at least relatively sure it would keep the Affliction at bay,

He stepped over a small creek of cloudy water, and tried not to think about the strange spongy chunks that bobbed just under the surface.

Wetness squished under his feet as he walked, and he stopped, reaching into his bag for a pen and notebook.

Wink moved to the side as he passed his hand in and then out, coming back with a faded leather-bound journal -- once his father’s journal now his, bound with something that might possibly have been human skin, though he did his absolute best not to think about that, and flipped open to an inner page, past pages and pages of spidery writing and jagged sketches until he found a fresh page. He allowed his hand to rest momentarily on the familiar course paper, taking comfort from the journal: an item that represented the only piece of his family he had left: his father’s research.

Wink stretched up from inside the bag, his long, gelatinous body elongating and stretching like a string of black slime , “What are you writing?”

“Just a reminder to throw away these clothes when we get back.”

“Afraid of getting sick are we?”

Eli tapped his chin and passed the notebook back into his bag, “out of all the Dreads, Affliction is, admittedly, one of my least favorite.”

“That implies you have a favorite?”

“I think that is generally the whole point, don’t you think? Why else would anyone choose to Serve the Dreads? You have to pick a favorite .”

Wink settled back into the bag, filling it’s contours like some sort of inky black puddle, “I feel like there is a distinct difference between having a favorite and having a, I dislike this thing the least.”

“I thought semantics was my thing.

Wink wiggled a little bit inside the bag, “Just getting back at you for all those times I had to listen to one of your pretentious lectures on the nature of fear.”

Eli adjusted his bag one more time, “That is assuming you even listen to me, which we both know you don’t.”

“No, no I don’t.”

The two of them lapsed into morose silence as the outskirts of the city passed away, and the twisted trees of the nearby swampland faded into the backdrop of fog. Up ahead, looming in the half illuminated mist, he could see the outline of Veerus city, less like a city and more like a cancerous growth on the face of the world seeping corruption and disease into the brackish feted bog that surrounded it.

He could see it now, canals of pollution leaking out from inside the city by way of giant corrugated pipes, which dumped cloudy water into the bog. The smell was indescribable, like a thousand rotting corpses. It came in gusts and waves steady one moment and then a sudden wall the next.

His mouth began to water again, and he stopped in the street to bend over and gag.

He wouldn’t allow himself to throw up, simply wanting the comfort and relief of expressing his disgust with this place. His hands tightened around the straps of his bag, the leather of the black gloves he wore creaking slightly as he moved up towards the looming shadow.

Overhead a black bird croaked, and Eli traced its stilted path through the sky, watching as a feather drifted down from above.

He was surprised the creature had enough feathers to fly.

Approaching the gates of Veerus his eyes fell on a pack of mangy dogs --with rotting skin and eyes so encrusted with yellow discharge he wondered how they could even see. They were huddled by the roadside, surrounding something that lay unmoving on the ground before them, tearing at it with their rotten teeth.

It looked like it had once been a cat.

Or maybe a rat.

He heard the rats in Veerus were almost as big as cats, but either way it didn’t matter. The thing was so diseased it had probably expired right there in the street so unrecognizable it didn’t matter what it HAD been once upon a time.

He made sure to keep to the other side of the street, eying the mangy mongrels as they chewed on their meal, not relishing the idea of what a bite from one of those infected things might do to him.

As he came upon the gate, he found himself held up at the back of a long line of people all crowding around the entrance, in a long line of hunched shoulders and ragged clothing. Looking at the mass of flesh before him, he found himself purposely distancing himself from the filth of bodies.

By the looks of them, he could see that most were peasants from the outlying marshland. They had that look about them, with scaly red skin, and bare feet with yellowed nails overgrown such that they were twisting back upon themselves. He grimaced as he imagined how it must feel to walk these streets, the rot squishing up between their toes. Their hair was lank like swampy weed and hung about their shoulders like wet moss while their skin hung loose and baggy around their faces.

Even despite all that, none of them were repulsive enough to be mistaken for one of the outbreak, or even one of the city dwellers, who were characteristically marred by leperous pockmarks and spongy patches of skin.

Granted, the swamp peasants lived on the land the affliction held dominion over, and many of them served the being in some way or another, but none of them were directly subject to it, so they had a little more safety than did their city dwelling brethren

Unfortunately for them, that meant they were still subject to disease as a natural course of things, as evidenced by their jaundiced skin. Just ahead of him, he saw an elderly woman hunched over a bundle of rags. peering out from those rags was a face, a feverish red face swollen and puffy with dark blue bags encircling the eyes.

He doubted the child had long to live.

Anyone who managed to grow up in a place like this and survive until adulthood was a miracle on their own.

The gate approached now, and just as the gate guards came within sight, the man before him collapsed suddenly convulsing in the filth of the street before going still. Barely anyone stopped to look. Eli barely flinched, watching as a group of leprous individuals hurried from an opening in the gate hauling a hand cart behind them.

The body was lifted by liver spotted hands and tossed into the back of the cart before being dragged away, to be tossed into one of the plague pits, the contents of which drained from those massive pipes and out of the city.

As he waited for his turn at the gate, Eli reached into the bag and pulled out his notebook and pen scratching a quick sketch of the scene before him

The men standing at the main gate were less diseased than the others: the only suggestion of their sickness being the pallid nature of their skin, and the glossy sheen of clammy sweat that acted as a constant veneer over their bodies.

He couldn’t tell if they were bald on purpose, or if the sickness had taken their hair.

“State your business.” One of them said, and Eli followed the man’s eyes as they ran up and down his body. Eli shrugged off the crawling sensation that ran a course over his spine as the man’s eyes paused to linger on the unblemished skin of his face….. Almost hungrily.

“State your business,” The second man repeated, voice raising with impatience.

Eli clenched one hand around the strap of his satchel, “I am here in the capacity of my work, as an information broker.”

One of the men snorted and hawked a thick filmy wad of phlegm onto the ground, “And what information do you have to broker?”

Eli looked the man in the face, the corners of his mouth turned slightly down, “What kind of information are you looking for. I have information on the safest trade routes, weather predictions, medicinal recipes-“

He was cut off.

“Let us see your identification.”

Eli nodded, dropping a hand into his bag to retrieve the little booklet of papers which he then passed over to the first man who looked it over with the same suspicious gaze..

In the end, it was his eyes that gave him away, running across the page too quickly and in such a strange pattern that he couldn’t have been reading. So either, he was lazy, or he couldn't read.

The man waved a dismissive hand, “Let him through.”

Eli was quickly sent on his way as the first man moved quickly onto his next subject.

As soon as they were out of hearing range a grumble rose up from the depths of his bag “He lies.”

Eli resisted the urge to brush a hand through his hair, “ It wasn’t totally a lie, besides What would you rather I had done? Tell them why we are really here?”

Wink stared at him from the shadow of the pouch contemplating his words before, “You are hardly likely to find your father here, and we both know it.”

Eli set his jaw forcing himself not to take Wink’s comments personally, “I know, but this isn’t about that, this is about…. Me.”

Wink hummed, “About that, what makes you think you are worth saving anyway. I thought you were erudite enough to know a lost cause when you see one”

Eli snorted “Big words from a wad of goo I might have just scraped from the bottom of my boot….. do you even know what it means?”

“I know plenty of large words, because unfortunately the only reading material I have in here during our long journeys just so happens to be your creepy journal and Cripman’s Thesaurus fifth edition. The least you could do is drop in some decent reading material every now and again.”

Eli huffed, “Yeah, perhaps, perhaps something with lots of pictures and very small words.”

“You cheeky bastard.”

“That’s me.” He looked up at the pale sky above and sighed. Besides, the wink was only half right. This wasn’t about stopping fear anymore; This was about saving his life. Eli only had so many days left, and those days were numbered.

He turned up another side street, following the map he had memorized earlier towards the center of the city. As he kept going, evidence of rot and sickness became more evident. More and more of those hand pulled carts trundled down the streets hardly even bothering to cover their gruesome cargo, all a mass of limbs and flesh melted together until it seemed to create one massive creature rather than just a pile of human bodies.

A metaphor, Simile or perhaps a close facsimile to the physical avatar of Affliction itself.

His mind was brought back to a page in his father’s Journal, where in was written an excerpt from one of the many books he had read, before leaving the journal to Eli. , “The Dreads and their incarnations” He could almost see the page upon which its description had been written, penned neatly in his father’s steady hand.

The creature lies within a pit in the ground-- a strange place for a god, though it is somehow fitting. The pit is filled a tenth of the way with brackish feted water, and flies churn in great wheeling circles overhead. When the creature moves it shifts with a great squelching sound that rips and rends like diseased flesh being peeled from bone. The pit itself is wide, almost unfathomably so, stretching out for what must be miles, and inside rests Affliction, a god of sickness, disease, and plague.

To look upon it is to understand unfathomable corruption and disgust as its great amorphous blob of skin seems to churn and undulate below. Its outside are bruised in the many colors of a rainbow, sour and perverted into this strange and unholy facsimile. It cannot be fathomed from where it starts and where it ends, and the limbs that wave above its head could be hands or feet or tentacles.

Not many but the Outbreak have seen the creature’s true form, for the power it holds, means that, to look on its body is to embrace the sickness, be permitted by it to become one with it.

To rot right down to the marrow of one’s bones.

Eli had some pity for the writer, for if he had seen what he had described, it was likely he was either one…. Dead, or two, a shambling corpse labeled as one of the Outbreak

He couldn’t say he felt entirely sorry for the man, as his first hand account saved Eli the curiosity of having to look at himself….. and the horrible boils that likely would have resulted. Overhead the sky had turned orange as the sun disseminated through the fog of corruption which shrouded the city.

It was a horrible place, and if it wasn’t for the Outbreak, the people would likely have fled long ago. but the Affliction had claimed them, and it wasn’t likely to let them leave any time soon.

Eli was close now, maybe a few blocks away from the library, and overhead, a rolling bank of clouds was passing its first shadow over the city.

Looking at the library, he could only hope that it would be cleaner on the inside than it was on the outside.

It would be best for him to keep his head low lest he attract the attention of one of the Outbreak. He didn’t want to become like these poor trapped souls, subject to their dark god.

It was never a good idea to catch the eye of one of the dreads.

Things tended to go generally very poor once that happened.

For everyone involved.

He was only delayed once on his way to the library, cutting behind a low stone archway as a contingent of the outbreak moved up the street, shambling and moaning like the deadmen that they were. He couldn’t tell what they were doing, but had suspicions that they were out hunting…. Looking for someone like him perhaps to bring into their fold, or to infect , their dark offering of fear to their hungry waiting god.

They passed up the street, and he slipped out from his hiding spot, hurrying forward to the one building in this place that seemed somewhat clean.

He said somewhat but there was still something about the building that didn’t sit right with him.

At one point, it had probably been constructed out of large blocks of white marble, though the city had stained the pure stone with yellow over the years, like

He paused just outside the door and took a long deep breath, looking up at the words that hung before him.

The Parvus School of Learning.

And then he reached out with two gloved hands and pushed the doors inwards.

Chapter 1

Oculus

He scurries through the streets like a rat, his feet trailing whispers behind him as he goes, and even from here I can see the drops of salty, sweat condensation clinging to his skin like a dancer’s paste on jewels.

I know this man, though he doesn’t know me.

But even if he did, he certainly wouldn’t want to.

A curtain of fog rises in a slow undulating wave from the Swampdark [may change this name] below, like the ghosts of the damned leading a procession towards the stars. When the fog touches me, I can almost feel the lifeless caress of those ghosts, the souls of all those the Swampdark has claimed.

The man turns a corner and I follow him, were it not for the midnight mirth echoing down from the upper city’s pleasure tier, he might have been able to hear the warning hiss of my mechanical joints. Luckily for me, the city humms, and my body hums with it, and in that hum I disappear.

Music drifts languidly down from above pulsing with a slow, mindless beat.

The man walks past a line of rickety storefronts, their windows and doors barred, and the message is clear: this city quarter bears no welcome for strangers. As he walks, his profile is painted by swatches of glowing blue neon, and now I can see the bottle in his hand more clearly. Neon light scatters through the container’s glass, and the light it refracts follows him down the street as a pale spector, his only companion in the night.

I slip closer, stealing strides of distance between us, a luxury he doesn’t even know he has.

I know this man.

I know him the way I know the thousands of men just like him, He’s got an iron lung, and it clings to the side of his bare torso like a bulging Nightleach, it's skeletal appendages burrowing into his body where it keeps anchored, The iron lung’s bellows spasm and pulse, struggling against the slow buildup of corrosion and rust, fighting to filter stagnant air into something the blood can use.

It looks painful, the eternal weight of the iron lung acting as his ball and chain that adds a perpetual twist to the man’s spine. Dying early might have been preferable to dragging around a botched suborgan.

I know this man.

He drinks hoping to abandon his pain in a bottle, he chews the bitter fungi to hang up his soul for the night, but when the ecstasy leaves him, abandoned like a one night lover he seeks to give his anger away: A gift no one asks for.

And who to give it to, but his starving, skeletal wife, and their seven, ghostly children.

Why would it matter to him? They'll all be corpses soon anyway, who will care if he speeds up the process, gives himself some relief.

I know this man.

And I am here to return his gifts.

The man pulls to a stop, lifting a desiccated hand to his pale, cracked lips. He coughs, and an unnatural sound is birthed from between his rotting teeth: wet and filmy, with saliva blackened by decay and rust.

He turns another corner, passing silently into the lurking darkness. A path waits there, beckoning us downward until the city is lost above us behind miles of desperate metal and concrete.

We step off the path, enfolded at once within an oppressive forest of towering iron

stilts collectively called the hands of salvation: baseless rhetoric streaming like piss from the mouths of upper tier clergy. I doubted a single one of those godless men had ever even laid eyes on a support pillar, less like a saintly hand lifting its inhabitants towards the sky, but more like a diseased arm, holding a plate cruelly above child’s grasping fingers

I am behind him now, no more than a few precious feet of feted atmosphere occupies the space between us

If he turned now, he could reach up and pluck away my eyes.

Overhead, the support beams creak and chitter, as if conversing among themselves.

The swamp dark is never silent.

The man’s steps are slow, plodding out the beat of his own funeral dirge against the hard-packed pathway.

Those unfortunate creatures that dwell here in the Swampdark are never without sound or even light, rocked to sleep by the tittering lullabies of rusted metal, and bathed in the malicious green glow of the trinity fields.

Wobbly, stilt legged hovels huddle together in lopsided clusters over the uneven ground of the Swampdark,desperate to avoid coming within close proximity of one of the pillars.

Despite living in truth’s overwhelming shadow, the people of the swamp dark still refuse to look her in the eye.

We are halfway to the first rickety settlement, and I don’t know what it is he senses first. The man doesn’t have many natural senses at his disposal as, One by one, a lifetime of hardships has robbed his bodily coffers clean of taste, smell, and touch. But still, I watch the chill as it licks down his spine, alerting him to my presence and causing him to turn.

Robbed of his taste and smell, life left one parting insult on its way out the door, and the man is shorter than me by almost a foot, but despite all that he is lacking, he still has the good sense to be terrified.

He backs away jaundiced eyes as wide and pale as the cryptcap mushrooms beneath his feet.

I know this man.

And now, he knows me too.

Knows me by my mechanical augments, my wire implants, my external regulator, and the large silver eye that blinks at him from the upper right side of my chest.

A word condolences from thought and forms as a word on his lips

Oculus

But he never gets the chance to speak it as my hand cuts off whatever piffling speech he was about to make, but

I know this man.

And I have heard his speech before muttered, screamed and pleased from a hundred quivering lips. They all offer the same excuses, passed between each other like an unwashed pair of socks.

And when the excuses fail to soften me, please and promises, empty and echoing like the bottles in their hands.

I lift the little man into the air kicking and struggling. He is heavier than he looks, iron lung dragged ever downward by the crushing weight of gravity, but my augmented limbs whirring to life with a hungry hiss.

Yun Johnov

I am here to equalize your sins.

I start with a headbut to the face, the cruel ridge of my mask biting into the delicate cartilage of his nose, which snaps without much protest. He howls, blood escaping eagerly from his nose to trace a getaway down his lips and chin.

With his feet back on the ground, I reel back and punch him hard in the gut, brutalizing his already corroded liver.

He doubles over retching.

I knee him, this time in his chin, and he reels backward, tripping over a huddle of mushrooms and staggering to one knee. His iron lung screeches in protest, but I’m not quite done just yet.

I step forward, casting the dim impression of my shadow over his quivering body. He casts his hands high, shielding me from his sight.

But I want him to look at me.

I kick his hands out of the way, feeling as one of his brittle bones crumbles beneath my kick.

His face is open and uncovered now, chin and mouth glazed in blood, thinning hair slick with sweat.

I pull back one more time.

He falls to the ground a moment later, bearing my signature, signed with the judicious application of my open palm. My mark will last for days, the broken nose for a few weeks, but the memory of my intervention will remain until the bellows of his miserable lung stops choking in air.

“An eye for an eye.” I say, making my pronouncement to no one in particular as I stand over his battered body.

We are close enough to the nearest cowering settlement for the occupants to have heard us, but they are unlikely to come to the man’s aid. Either he will negotiate his way back upright, or he will decay there in the mud, fertilizing the trinity fields with his juices, leaving only an iron lung as his headstone.

I bar thoughts of the man from my mind as I turn and trace my way up the pathway and into the lower city.

The lower city isn’t really part of the city proper, but a minefield of ghostly shanty towns, stacked in dangerously unbalanced heaps in the shadow of the upper city. The people here aren’t well off, but at least they are blessed to sit cupped in the palms of salvation, or at least that’s how some try to justify their miserable existence.

In reality, people in the lower city aren’t much better off than people in the Swampdark, in fact the only real difference between the two groups is a matter of a few IQ points and a false sense of superiority.

Despite the abundance of ramshackle dwellings, I don’t see many people here, and I don’t expect to. Generally, I am the first person most people see, and the last person most people want to see, and as a result, my very existence tends to thin a crowd.

I pass through the ghost shanties, as much as a ghost myself.

From there, I find my way up to the pleasure tier, its streets glazed with candy-bright colors spilling down from vibrant neon signs, and refracting through grimy panes of glass.

The music crawls its sinuous way down into the street and vibrates up through the souls of my feet, stopping to pulse, and dance to the beat of the blood in my ears.

Men and women writhe and dance before me, bathed together in the neon light. I can sense a few wary eyes turned my way, but the vast majority of people hardly notice me. The tang of trinity hangs heavy on the air, its presence announced by the thick, sweet smoke, and the bitter taste that makes itself manifest on the back of my tongue. A young woman staggers past me, the white underbelly of her eyes on full display, and her arms are flung out to either side as trinity guides her through fields of ecstasy for the night.

Curvaceous shadows dance low, and slow beyond a red-shrouded window.

“Over here, Oculus.”

Tangled between strands of real human hair, delicate fibrous cables lift themselves from my scalp tugging me towards the origin of the sound.

The owner of that voice, does not attempt to hide, quite the opposite in fact

She stands in a nearby doorway, allowing glowing neon the privilege of kissing her skin as she stands. A ruby red gown blooms from her body stretching in languid curves down her legs and towards the floor. A wave of long dark hair spills down the side of her face and onto her shoulder, which is bare, and open to the night air.

I am surprised to see she is mostly organic, none of her curves borrowed, leased or welded on.

She motions me over with a finger, “You look like someone who could use some company.” The same rote phrase trails from her lips, like it has from thousands of lips just like her since time immemorial.

I raise an eyebrow, and the fiber optic cables in my hair rise with it, “Is that so?

She smiles, and I am almost impressed to see she has all her teeth, either that or an excellent set of dentures, “I believe it is.” When she breathes, a gentle fog of steam obscures the clear plastic of her external regulator, her only non-implanted augmentation.

I tap my wrist, and her corresponding hand lights up. She looks down and then back to me, “That’ll get you an hour.” But even as she begins to speak, I have already waded my first few steps back into the flow of the crowd.

“Hey! Where are you going! You know, I don’t do third party locations.” she says shouting to be heard over the music.

I turn my head internally, dialing down the background noise so I can hear her more clearly, “Keep it.” I say allowing the crowd to flow around me on either side.

St stands, resting her hands on her full hips. Somehow, even her hands are beautiful: long and slender against the ruby hue of her dress, “I don’t accept charity, Oculus.”

“It’s not charity.” I say, calling back over my shoulder.

She tosses her hair, which whips itself into a proud mane around her shoulders,“Then what is it!”

“A thank you.”

That response seems to catch her off guard. She stands, a pillar of stillness in a sea of flashing lights, and stares at me through the ebbing tide of the crowd, “For what?”

I turn away from her, and when I finally give her my voice, it is a quiet offering falling from my lips like shredded paper fluttering down from the upper city, “For being the first person to talk to me like a human tonight.”

I make sure to be gone before she can answer, allowing myself to be swept away by a torrent of light and noise, bodies pressed around me filling my nose with the sulfurous odor of sweat, and the bitter tang of trinity.

Leaving the pleasure district, I shed neon and sweet smoke like water, the night air of the manufacturing district scrubbing my skin clean of revelry only to apply its own unique perfume.

Industry.

A distant line of massive, black smokestacks cuts a violent edge across the diffused, blue glow of the city skyline, huffing great clouds of rancid black smoke into the already hazy blue air. Lines of steel cables, electrical wires and bridges cut an impressionist pattern between the towering buildings.

The trinity factories are never quiet, run perpetually by ghostly night shift laborers fed with a steady stream of liquid stim. Some with company- subsidized ports directly into their bloodstreams for easier dosing. I’d seen it close up on several occasions, once as a boy when I was briefly employed on the refinery floor: employed until a steel hatch severed three of my fingers, and I was made redundant.

I flex my hand at the phantom memory of pain, before abandoning the memory on the streetside, though it would inevitably follow me home and find its way back into my head.

Until then, I would force peace upon myself.

The industry district occupies a long, single stretch of road that cuts like a scar through the central stacks of the city, always no more than a few miles from any possible origin point, offering no excuses for workers who found themselves running a few minutes late. Beyond this, only the trinity fields stretching for miles of back breaking labor beneath the city offer any consistent source of work.

I make my way past these buildings, hunching gloomily against the perpetually dark sky, and finally find my feet plodding along more familiar paths.

My place of work sits sandwiched somewhere off and to the side of both the industry district and the administration/government district ostracized from the bulk of the city by high concrete fences topped with a thin, blue electrical field. Additionally, the outer perimeter is surrounded on three sides by a murky perimeter of marble black water serving as a secondary deterrent to anyone already stupid eough to get to close to begin with.

I approach the front gate, a massive slab of silver metal with a barely visible hairline seam running a track down the middle.

At the center of the gate, the large, silver mockery of an eye blinks open, its external sensors connecting to the eye on my chest.

It blinks once issuing a series of robotic sounds followed by an inhuman mechanical voice.

Oculus Ailanthus 3

The gate cracks open, splitting the eye in half to invite me inside.

The courtyard and training fields lie silent and abandoned this time of day. My footsteps echo in protest to the silence as I lead my one man procession up to the grand double doors, which slide open for me without a sound. A thin beam of green/yellow light pours in a torrent from the open door, sweeping me up in a blinding spotlight as I step through the doors and into the grand atrium.

My eyes shed a small torrent of tears as they adjusted to the light, pouring down from our one greatest symbol of power and glory.

The tree.

Tall enough and wide enough, to take up the entire far wall of the large atrium, the plant stands proud within its environmentally controlled glass enclosure. A shroud of golden light filters gently through the emerald leaves and onto the ground where a curtain of lazy grass sways slowly in an artificial breeze. As far as I know, the tree is the largest of its kind, at least thirty feet tall, with a trunk as thick as a man’s thigh, and a tangle of branches forking out like the delicate veins and capillaries of a man’s heart. The leaves that sprout from its branches are smaller than my palm, and shaped like gently tapering spades.

As usually, the tree robs me of both my breath and attention, but I’m not one to complain.

“Oculus…”

Everything inside that class container is so clean, and gentle, even the lacy patterns of golden light cast onto the ground seem so much brighter than the grungy blue neon that paints the walls of the city.

“Ailanthus!”

Reality makes its unwanted appearance, barging in on the back of our front desk administrator’s nasally voice. I turn my eyes on the little man, no larger than five foot four, fighting with an aggressively retreating hairline, in a losing battle for his scalp. The son of some mid level administrator, he had been granted little enough power, and an even smaller amount of respect.

He glares at me expectantly, his small black uniform hanging in bags around his armpits and chest.

Usually, I might have had a little sport with the tiny man, but not today.

I walk up to the counter, and stand still, while the little man, can’t remember his name, unlocks the Observer from my chest, unplugging the bionic eye with a pop. He turns in his chair, plugging the camera into a waiting port, “Report?”

I rest the palms of my hands flat on his countertop, smudging its polished surface with the imprint of my fingers, “I have completed three sanctioned beatings, two retaliatory robberies, and returned three truancies. It must be noted that one retaliatory robbery resulted in compulsory amputation when no item of equal or greater value could be provided.”

Behind him, the observer unit blinked and chimed a long, low note.

The small man gave an aggressive stamp to a sheet of paper and handed it over.

“Bring this to-.”

“The records office, I know.” I held up the paper, eyes scanning lazily down the page as I made my leisurely way from the room, red ink glistening like a smear of blood on the white paper circular red letters reading.

Government of the Coladium: Department of the Seer Collective

Oculus 336 Ailanthus.

Certification of case completion.

I dropped my hand to the side, letting the piece of paper fall with it, turning only once to look back at the tree glowing like a beacon in the atrium behind me.

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thesteriuswife · 27 days

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okay one more h.ades fic this is a thesterius one and one of my favs that i've made... it's mostly a comedy / "fluff" but it does also discuss Internalized Racism (💔) there's also some very small suggestive moments

this was basically at attempt at making an in-universe reason for why theseus' portrait in game doesn't really Look like him (though the real world reason is simply that it's recycled concept art)

When the vile hellspawn sauntered into the arena, and announced to Theseus that he’d commissioned a portrait of the king during his princehood, he at first thought of it as a foolish attempt at a diversion. That Zagreus— did his vile schemes have no end? It was not the first time he’d attempted to drive Theseus into a tortuous rage, and it certainly would not be the last. And besides that, what use did he have for such a painting? As Theseus once again pierced Zagreus’ flesh with his ruby spear, and once again sent him back to the bowels of hell, he concluded that his words must have been nothing but lies. One day or night, however, the Lord Hades called Theseus to his dank house for a performance review (it was brief, of course. Lord Hades had his complaints, but the simple fact of that matter is that there was no one else within Blessed Fields who desired the title of champion). Not yet ready to return to Elysium, he wandered around the place, observing the many changes that had occurred in the time between his last visit and now. Upon entering the small west hall (and passing by the Great Achilles who had dismissed him with I’m working right now, King Theseus…), he found a piece of his own legacy hanging upon the wall there. The portrait was familiar: a near perfect replica of one he'd posed for in life. His father Aegeus had commissioned it soon after claiming Theseus as his son, but it was not completed until after his return from Crete. Despite this it was still completed with his father's specifications in mind, to honour him after his untimely death; the prince within the portrait had his ambiguities removed, and therefore looked rather unlike Theseus. One would mistake the fantasy-prince as being a grandchild of Pandion, with his pale skin and smaller nose. But the Theseus of reality shared no blood with the former king.

He remembers the discomfort he felt at the time, feelings he wasn't able to put into words. Aegeus had wanted his son to look like a proper prince, but what exactly did those words mean? To this day, he didn’t know. Theseus scowled. Were the painting not rightful property of the underworld’s lord and master, he would have gladly pried it from the wall and tossed it into the Styx to drown. All he could do for now was leave and hope that next time he appeared, it would be replaced with something more tasteful. -----------------------------------

When Theseus returned home, Asterius was sitting outside, half buried in their garden of wildflowers. The bull held in his hands a large book, its pages decorated with golden detailing. Butterflies of shimmering light would occasionally flitter onto his horns, then leave just as fast. Theseus’ heart swelled at the sight. How fortunate he was to have Asterius in his life! He didn’t have many kind words for his prince-self, but he could appreciate that even back then, he sensed that there was something special about Asterius. Theseus stood before him, then dropped down to his haunches. Asterius’ ears twitched in response. “Asterius, my dear friend… what are you reading?” Asterius looked up. His head tilted inquisitively, but if he noticed something amiss, he did not mention it. “A lone warrior is attempting to rescue a princess. But it is not his true quest.” “Oh yes? May I read it alongside you?” Asterius patted the ground beside himself, inviting Theseus to sit. He wasted no time positioning himself next to Asterius with his head resting against the bull’s sturdy shoulder. Theseus listened closely as the bull read out loud to him. It was something they’d done more times than he could count, often with Theseus voicing the most theatrical characters. For now, however, all he wanted to do was be comforted by the sound of Asterius’ sweet voice… “Theseus…” “Hmm?!” Theseus jolted, blinking blearily at Asterius. “Ah, did I fall asleep? I apologize, my friend!”

Theseus yawned before lazily throwing himself over the bull’s lap. In any other scenario he would have rolled onto his back so he could gaze lovingly at Asterius’ shapely jaw, and the cute shape of his snout. Asterius was perfect in every which way, and needed no portrait to immortalize it… unlike himself, apparently.

“I take it your meeting with Hades went poorly.”

“Not quite, dearest. My meeting with the Lord Hades went wonderfully! I am upset for… other reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Such as— that damnable portrait he has hanging on the west wall! Depicting myself, as a prince.” Theseus gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “The boy within its frame is a stranger to me. He is the one who killed you so very long ago, and…”

“And?”

“Even physically he is different. His skin paler, his nose smaller, his jaw more elegant! It is a perfect replicant not of myself… but of a portrait my father once commissioned, long ago…” When Theseus arrived within Athens as a young prince, he was thought of as a foreigner. His father, being born of Egypt, did not help in this regard. While there were plenty who followed the teachings of Apollo in that foreigners should be treated with grace, there were others who looked at Theseus with disdain due to his lack of Athenian noble blood, and many more viewed Aegeus as some kind of usurper. In an attempt to solve this problem, Aegeus had a multitude of portraits of himself made. He was so very similar to Theseus’ grandfather, obsessed with the idea of being preserved through history. But those portraits always depicted Aegeus in the way he wanted to be viewed, rather than how he truly was. Looking at paintings alone, there was no doubt that Aegeus was the son of Pandion, descendant of Erichthonius. But to look at Aegeus himself, and to compare him to his siblings, or even Athen’s previous rulers, it was clear there was no blood shared between them.

Preoccupied as he was with his thoughts, Theseus did not hear the sound of Asterius’ book closing. It was only when the bull’s furred hand cupped his jaw, brushing its thumb over his cheek, that Theseus’ attention returned to his dearest friend. “You are handsome and true, king. None in Elysium could hope to compare to you.”

“Oh, bull!” Theseus gasped, “How kind you are. But your praise is not needed! In fact, allow me… I simply must reward you for allowing me to nap besides you, after all.” “You slept for a mere few minutes…” “Even so!” Theseus planted a firm kiss against Asterius’ snout. “You, my bull…” he sighed, “Are without parallel. You’ve a unique beauty that cannot be rivaled. And more so than that, you are the most handsome Minotaur in all of Elysium!!” “The only Minotaur in all of Elysium,” Asterius corrected. When Theseus pouted in response, Asterius gave a soft snort in laughter. “You deserve a better portrait, king.”

“It is you, my bull, who deserves a portrait! Perhaps, after this, I will find an artist to hire for the task…”

“I would paint you,” Asterius replied. “I would capture your beauty in truth.”

“Oho? Are you being quite truthful, dear bull?”

“I am. I will.”

“Such kindness from you, such generosity… Asterius, Asterius…”

As Theseus continued to plant kisses against his most cherished companion, the topic of painting was soon forgotten by him altogether…. But Asterius remembered.

And so, it was a few weeks later when the bull surprised his king with this:

“King, allow me to paint you.”

“You want to… oh! Oh, yes. That conversation…”

Theseus hummed, lost in thought. Ah, how he loved the idea of posing for his beloved bull! But Theseus knew himself well, and knew that every time he posed for a portrait, he quickly grew antsy, impatient, and most of all restless. Indeed, he was a famously difficult client to deal with even as he lived! Asterius was a patient bull (something Theseus appreciated immensely), but he did not wish to put him through that sort of trouble for what was at the time merely a passing thought. Theseus wracked his brain for a solution, though he struggled to come up with something satisfactory. Still, Asterius deserved an answer, and Theseus intended to give him one.

“I must admit, my friend, that I find myself somewhat intimidated by the idea of posing for a painting! It has been quite a long time since I’ve last done so.” As he spoke, Theseus’ words and his budding thoughts tumbled into one another, and his next words became an impulsive suggestion. “Perhaps, instead of a painting, we could try sketching one another…?” Theseus’ expression turned grim at his own words; what was he thinking? He had of course dabbled in art before just as any king would, but his skills were next to nothing. But darling Asterius’ eyes lit up in excitement, glittering like two gemstones. He loved the idea, by the gods. “King, if you are willing…”

"Ah, w-well!” Theseus desperately tried to think of a way to retract his offer, but Aasterius looked so joyous at just the idea, and Theseus was loath to deny him such a simple request. “...Alright, my friend. From this moment onwards, the two of us shall temporarily relinquish our title as champions, and take on the role of artists!" -------------------------------------

There was a small area behind Theseus' home where a pond glittered with blue water. While the pair had plenty of fish tanks inside their home, the pond held many larger, exotic species. It was one of Asterius' favourite places to come and relax after a battle, especially when ghostly waterfowl would occasionally come to swim upon the surface.

It was here that they sat out their supplies to begin painting together. Theseus had long ago asked the shade of a carpenter to create an easel big enough for Asterius to comfortably use, which then led to the construction of paint brushes and other such items meant for his larger hands. Theseus wanted to have them engraved with an array of intricate patterns, but Asterius had pointed out that they would end up becoming decorative items by that point, rather than tools he could actually utilize.

Still, Theseus felt his heart swell with pride at the sight of Asterius elegantly seated across from him, his hair unstyled, falling in loose curls around his bullish face. Asterius of course looked handsome in any scenario, but there was something special about seeing him without his armor, relaxed and idling. There was none other within Elysium who had this unique privilege, after all, and Theseus would be sure to cherish every moment he could— “...King.” “Ah? Yes, my dear bull?” “You’ve been staring at me.” he snorted, clearly amused. “Get to work.” Theseus pouted, but did not complain as he finally turned his eyes towards his easel and the blank parchment upon it. Though it had been quite some time since he took lessons in art, he still remembered some of the basics. Where to start, though? Theseus supposed, with the head.

Asterius' bullish face was gorgeous in its uniqueness. From his luscious eyelashes, to the rich brown of his eyes, to the soft caramel-cream tone that coloured the bridge of his snout. However… it was not the easiest thing for a beginner artist to draw. If he broke down the shapes to their bare essentials, Asterius' head was something of a rectangle. He would begin there. Theseus pressed his pencil to the parchment. Somehow, his attempt at a rectangle looked more like a lopsided disc. Theseus tried again— this time getting something more akin to an elongated tube. A third time, with a furious determination, and somehow his clumsy hands managed to create a perfect square. Theseus was baffled beyond all reason- but it was good enough for now. With a shaky hand, he used this as a base to render the rest of Asterius’ head, including a glittery eye with long lashes, an adorable snout with a shimmering nose ring, and two tall horns… The end result was something more of an giant and overdetailed eye with long hairs growing off of it attached to a pair of overly long rods. Theseus’ hand hovered over the drawing, half tempted to tear it up and just take it from the top. But he knew that even if he did start over, his second attempt would not be much better.

(As his dread grew, Theseus couldn’t keep himself from once again focusing on Asterius. The Minotaur was working with intent, as if he knew what he was doing. Surely he wasn’t experiencing this same childish panic Theseus felt...) If he could not draw Asterius’ head properly, then perhaps his body would be easier. He had touched his muscles many times up until now, felt them beneath his hand, pressed against his body both in combat and in… other scenarios. He knew them as well as he knew his own! Yes, this would be simple! It was not. While Theseus could be proud that he’d managed to capture the shape of Asterius’ forearms fairly well, the rest of it was disproportional, not to mention the fact that he had become… engrossed while depicting his companion’s chest, and may have exaggerated more than is appropriate. The idea of starting on his legs was intimidating, now. Could he depict them in all their glory? He could at least do this properly, couldn’t he?

Theseus pressed his pencil to the page, and scribbled passionately. The end result was two awkwardly bent sticks, one slightly larger the other, both ending in round clubs for feet. Gazingly blankly at the page, the king sat in stunned silence.

He wasn’t particularly skilled in this regard, true, but he’d assumed he could at least do better than this. The drawing in its current state was a clear insult to Asterius’ beauty, and that was unforgivable. Theseus again looked over at his partner. Dear, sweet Asterius was so concentrated, no doubt creating a masterpiece that would make Theseus cry tears of joy once he laid his eyes upon it. And what did Theseus have to repay his kindness with? A drawing that looked as if it was created by a child. No— a child could surely do better than this! Perhaps he should start over after all? So long as he does so before Asterius completed his drawing— “...Theseus.” “Hah? Ah! Yes, my friend…?” Much to the king’s surprise, Asterius’ voice was tingned the slight irritation of having called out to him several times now, though Theseus, lost in thought as he was, did not notice. “I’ve finished.” “Ah! You’ve finished!” Typically Theseus would admire the speed at which Asterius could work, but at this moment it was an absolute hindrance. He could not help but to wonder if it would be possible to subtly (intentionally) dump his canvas into the pond water and request a do-over. So preoccupied he was with his plans that he nearly did not hear Asterius’ sighing:

"Mine did not come out great…” he admitted. "I was nervous."

Theseus had grabbed his easel in preparation for shoving it over, but Asterius’ words stopped him in his tracks. When Aserius looked at him strangely, Theseus sat back down with an awkward chuckle,

"Nervous…?" Theseus mused, trying to hide his own anxiousness. "From gazing upon my handsome visage, I'm sure!"

"Yes." Asterius’ honesty always shocked Theseus, even now. "I wanted to draw your features properly. I was nervous."

"I… I see!" Theseus was sure his face was heating up, now. How was it that Asterius was able to fluster him so easily, without any effort? "Well, I'm sure it's not any worse than mine! Shall we, erm…?"

Both men awkwardly clung to their canvases, seemingly unwilling to let the other gaze upon his creation.

"In that case!" Theseus eventually said "I suppose I shall go first! Promise me you will not laugh?"

“I prom— huh.” Theseus flipped his canvas so Asterius could see his creation in all its lopsided glory. A snout that had been erased and redrawn so many times it began to look more like smudged pencil marks than anything resembling a head, horns growing out sideways from its forehead. His overly-large chest was at a strange contrast with his comparatively smaller body, which became stranger still with his oddly proportioned legs.

Asterius did a good job of not laughing… for a mere few seconds. But soon his body tensed, and his shoulders shook, and a strange wheezing noise came from his throat. And Asterius- he laughed, guffawing at the drawing Theseus displayed to him, his body shaking so terribly his art supplies got knocked over. Theseus pouted, offended. “Is my art truly so funny?! Show me yours, th— hmm?!”

Theseus’ words devolved into strained choking when Asterius showed the work he’d created. Theseus’ nose was large, but here it was drawn exaggeratedly. His posture was some bizarre cross between the elegance of a swan, and the buffoonery of a satyr. At some point the bull realized he’d drawn Theseus’ chiton over the wrong shoulder, resulting in him wearing what appeared to be some type of bizarre tunic, and that goes without mentioning the lopsided grin he wore. Theseus was baffled. But beyond that, he loved it. He loved the drawing so much he could only express it by slumping down to his knees, and burying his face in his hands to muffle his increasingly high pitched wails of delight.

"That bad, is it?"

"Asterius, I adore it!! I simply must have it framed somewhere in my bedroom at once!"

Asterius gave a haughty snort, causing his nose ring to sway. "Absolutely not."

"Asterius, please, I am begging! See, I am already on my knees. In turn, I'll allow you to do whatever you'd please with the work I created! I’m sure you’d give Patroclus quite a chuckle if you showed it to him, next time you are together!" “Hmm…” Asterius tilted his head in thought. “I have a better idea.” “Oh yes?” The two champions began to gather up their art supplies, all while Asterius told his king of his idea. Soon they were distracted and found themselves sitting at the end of the pond, chatting eagerly as they watched Elysium’s false sky transform into a watercolour of orange and pink, before fading into a starry night sky.

--------------------------------------- Within their shared home, Theseus and Asterius posed together as the shade of an old painter prepared a portrait for them both. Asterius was used to sitting still for an extended period of time, but Theseus couldn’t help but to shake his leg, or rub Asterius’ hand, or try to start a conversation (leading to him quickly being hushed). Just as he predicted, Thesus still found the process of being painted to be an extremely sluggish affair. Rather than sitting and looking nice next to Asterius, he’d much, much, much rather be busy with cherishing him. But they had all the time in the world for that, he supposed. He could attempt to ignore his own restlessness, at least for now. And yet… When the shade announced that they’d finished, Theseus could not help but to groan out an exasperated “Finally!”, and even Asterius slumped backwards in his seat with a sigh, exhausted from having to hold his pose for so long. Within the painting, Theseus was wearing the blue cloak he once treasured as a youth, with Asterius wearing a matching one in a slightly darker hue. He sat poised on the bull’s broad lap, his smile vibrant, and Asterius’ curls were decorated with all his favourite flowers. Though it was just a painting, he could still feel the love Asterius had in his eyes. How strange it was, that his heart swelled with joy seeing this version of himself— the version of himself that had Asterius by his side, for now and for always. Soon the painting was placed within a frame of elaborate gold (Theseus had rushed out and purchased it mere minutes after Asterius suggested the idea of a professional painting, impulsive as always), and hung within their main room, next to several smaller paintings of Theseus’ family, and some created by Asterius himself.

(And on the wall immediately beside the portrait, folded up within a simple wooden frame, two amateurish paintings rested side by side, both signed with pride by their artists.)

#📚 codex #👑🐂 the king and the bull (thesterius)

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fan-mans · 9 months

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Punch out!! Fic recs

Decided to make a fic recommendation post for newbies to the fandom and those who may not know where to look for good/fun fics! Also, feel free to send me an ask about fics I should look into and add for the list! I'm more than happy to add them or make a second post!

From Fanfiction.net:

Non shippy-

One win by SSBFreak, oneshot. A short thrilling read about one of the few mysteries of punch out lore!

Shattered Glass by Eric Alost, oneshot. Angsty and really nice, looks through the perspective of a potential 'win' of a certain boxer.

To have, To be by Kmoody, oneshot. Short, cute, sweet, and slightly shippy Joe/Kaiser if you squint.

Faith by Derpula, multi-chapter, finished. Very good read about mac's contender fight with Super Macho Man, includes both mac and Macho's perspectives. Interesting character development and analysis of both and definitely has its hair-raising moments!

Blurred Lines by Derpula, oneshot. A look into Doc and Macs relationship, very sweet and heartwarming with the slightest sprinkle of angst.

Accuser by kmoody, oneshot. A look into Glass Joe's internal monoluge after a fight, angsty and almost feels poetic.

La Confiance EN by kmoody, oneshot. Slightly angsty look into Glass Joe's fears before a match, featuring a cat and a happier ending! Also comes in a french version.

Home by dannyson97, multi-chapter, unfinished. A story about Joe and Aran getting into a matched together. Because it's unfinished, the fight is never seen but the opening chapters are charming all on their own!

Snapped by NightshadeOfDeath, multi-chapter, unfinished. A story about Joe making a mistake and facing the consequences. Looks into his personal fears and perceptions of himself.

Teenager versus French Gentleman by BoxingWGV, multi-chapter, unfinished. An interesting flip on the story of mac rising to the top of the wvba. Here, he can't even beat glass joe and we see some trials with other boxers as well.

Punch Out: The Champion Returns REMASTERED by the ender defender, multi-chapter, unfinished. A fun fic about mac rising to the top of a different boxing organization with an equally wacky cast of characters as the wvba and some cameos from our old faves! Its very similar to a fic later in the list, but with much shorter chapters.

Punch-Out!: Straight to the top by VittorioFGC, multi-chapter, unfinished. A nice fic retelling the events of the 2009 game blended with the original nes game with some additional details. It has footnotes as well, which I found very funny, and an Italian version.

Klaas Dekker's Punch-Out by Alexneushoorn, multi-chapter, unfinished. A fic set after mac retires, a rise-to-the-top story starring a new boxer named Klaas, featuring some original characters and others from the various games.

Shippy-

Act Out! by JesterrDraws, multi-chapter, unfinished. Au where the 2009 game is actually a movie! Ships so far: Don x Carmen, Bear x Tiger, Joe x Aran

PunchOut! Second Round by Vile.EXE, multi-chapter, unfinished. A sequel to the 2009 game where mac has to fight through a new sea of wacky characters to find out what's really going on and what happened to the WVBA. Very, very, very fun! Though light on story, it makes up for that with the silly characters that fit right in in the punch out universe. All opponents are ocs and there are cameos from the 2009 cast. The story is very much like 'the champion returns' but with more fleshed out chapters. Ships: Mac x OC

Experiments by Timeless Text Traveler, multi-chapter, unfinished. An nsfw story between Don and Joe where they get a little bit curious about each other.

From Wattpad

Non shippy-

Good Baguette/Bad Baguette: A Punch-Out Fanfic by Grant_Cohen, oneshot, unfinished. An au where Glass Joe gets magically turned evil. Only one chapter but it inspired my own evil Glass Joe so I'm putting it here.

Shippy-

(Punch Out Story) Heart on her Glove by RedCheshiree, multi-chapter, unfinished. Aran Ryan x OC story that's pretty cute.

Punch-Out!! Oneshots by GoEatDoorMoss/Bald Men Enjoyer, multi-chapter, on hiatus. Very good writing on the oneshots and plenty of fun if you're into oneshot books. Adding especially because Matt has written 3 things for me and I love its work to death.

From Ao3

Non shippy-

C'est La Vie by Midina127, oneshot. A short and sadder story centered around Glass Joe, it's almost poetic in my opinion.

An Unexpected Friendship by peegstheprez, multi-chapter, unfinished. A story about Aran and Mac becoming friends and the little adventures they fall into. Very sweet and charming and silly.

try that again and i'll fucking dogwalk you by ReleaseTheBogus, oneshot. A dark, bloody story about Aran's thoughts in the ring, featuring his sister.

The shower situation by Littlemacsboxingring2, oneshot. A short silly story about everyone getting mad at someone for hogging the showers in the wvba locker room.

Full Moons and Silver Spoons by NoonboryKedabory, oneshot. Teenage Glass Joe Babysits a baby Narcis, short, sweet, and cute.

Sportsmanship by Broken_Clover, multi-chapter, finished. Mac decides to befriend all of his opponents with varying rates of success. Extremely cute and funny as well.

Sweet Dreams? by X_Sukix29, oneshot. Hondo is being haunted by something and is protected by his friends in the major circuit. Works really well as a short horror story with a happier ending!

Forgive and Forget...? by X_Sukix29, oneshot. Don does not take his loss to Mac well and becomes a mess until Mac, and later the rest of the major circuit, talk him to his senses. An emotionally deep exploration of Don's character motivations and a falling out between the major circuit boxers that resolves to a happy end.

A Place for Everything by Broken_Clover, oneshot. A look into an au where Joe is a god of failure, mistakes, and hope. Less of a traditional story and more lore-like, but very interesting nonetheless.

D7- Animal by Broken_Clover, oneshot. A peek into a dark, post-apocalyptic au where the wvba gang, no longer human, finds Joe in the wasteland.

Rabid Punches by megidolaon56, oneshot. An excellent, dark story about Aran having rabies and giving it to Mac. Sad ending, but very much worth the read. Note that there is untagged use of the r-slur and the n-word (Though cut off).

Aran Ryan Goes to McDonald's by basedbiasedbogus, multi-chapter, finished. Joke story about Aran's adventures at McDonalds, funny and silly and not much else. Warning for the use of the r-word and a cut off version of the n-word.

I KNEW IT, MAC! by AceAndOver, oneshot. A joke story about Aran discovering Mac's deep, dark secret.

2 Months Ago (Underground Circuit Prologue) by AxolKat42, oneshot. Soda Popinski fights a mysterious opponent in the even more questionable 'underground circuit'. A good and interesting setup to a story not yet released.

C is for Culture by orphan_account, oneshot. A short drabble about unique elements of the boxer's cultures. Short and sweet but it gives and interesting insight into all the other boxer's lives.

The Houses in the Woods by Homosexual_Central, oneshot. Kid au where Hondo and Joe are being harassed by the local bully, Macho. They end up in a fight and are eventually rescued by Aran and later meet up at his house. Hondo and Aran become friends from all of this. Extremely cute story that gives a fun take on Aran and Hondo's personalities.

Black Roses by megidolaon56, multi chapter, finished. Don loses everything after Mac defeats him in contender mode- this is the story of how he becomes the Don we see during title defense. Extremely dark story, includes a lot of angst, violence, and overall terrible people but hoo boy is it a fun read if you like reading about characters going evil! Extremely violent and gore heavy in the last few chapters. Also a warning for abuse- Carmen is written as physically abusive and it's not talked about in the tags, nor is the use of the r-word in the last chapter just fyi. Bonus points for the double endings!

Shippy-

(Punch-Out!!) A Cheater's Reason by K1TT3N69, oneshot (technically) unfinished. This is the first 3 chapters of an unfinished fic exploring the reson behind Aran's cheating. Joe x Aran story that I'm sad never got finished.

L'Eau à La Bouche by seroquickshots, multi-chapter, finished. This is a smutty story where the reader rides Joe's face. I'm not one for x reader stories that much but this one was fun. Joe x reader, obviously.

Keep hittin' me, I love it by moonlight_museum, oneshot. Aran gets beat up by his boyfriend and then they bang about it. Aran x Soda Popinski, very kinky and a pretty short read.

The Night Was Young by floridacow, oneshot. Aran and Narcis have their own little fight club and things turn smutty. Aran x Narcis hatefucking.

Narcissus Lily and a Lucky Clover by Mushroom_king1994, oneshot. Very similar to the above, Aran and Narcis have a private fight, things get heated, and they bang about it. Aran x Narcis hatefucking extravaganza.

Punch Out!! Oneshots by gorebot, multi-chapter, unfinished. Two oneshots centered around Aran x Joe. In the first, Joe goes to a party and has to stay the night at a mysterious (and cute) stranger's house. In the second, Joe accidentally finds out Aran is trans and Aran doesn't take it well. Both are kinda nice if you like the ship.

Blowing Off Steam by Richard_Van_Lesbian, oneshot. A nice little romp between trans!Kaiser and Joe. Joe x Kaiser smut.

Knock Out!!! by CaptainBumble, onshot. Extremely horny Aran x OC smut fic with some very wacky elements that are actually kind of fun.

Punch-Out!! : Corruption Arc by kingminty, multi-chapter, unfinished. A very interesting au where the punch-out world is a little bit... off. Main pov is sandman and his inner narration and characterization is really fun! Ships so far: Joe x Sandman.

Just a Sketchy Guy by TheRazor, oneshot. Joe catches Aran doodling one day and the two bond over Aran's art. Aran x Joe fluff, really cute and sweet with some joke ships thrown in as well.

Ma Chérie by waffled_moron, oneshot. Joe, having lost his gear, goes snooping around the locker room to find it. When Macho catches him, it turns smutty. Joe x SMM, bonus point for it being t4t.

Imperfections by gutsw, multi-chapter, finished. Narcis feels insecure about his face and Aran comforts him (and then fucks him). Very sweet Narcis x Aran fic.

Red or Green by gutsw, oneshot. Joe and Soda are having sex and have to use a safeword. Soda x Joe, fluffy, smutty, and sweet.

Atemlos durch die Nacht by pair_of_keet, oneshot. Kaiser comes home tense from a match and reader aims to comfort him (with sex). Kaiser x reader smutty story, well written and a fun read even if you aren't into x readers.

Who am I? Or.. Who are We...? by frenchmanfuckery, multi-chapter, unfinished. A fusion AU where Sandman and Joe accidentally fuse after hanging out together. Current ships: Sandman x Joe

Victory by JubiJumbo, oneshot. Joe helps Kaiser feel better after a match (With sex). Trans!Joe x Kaiser smutty goodness.

“Rough Match” by starofmourning, oneshot. Joe senses something is up with Kaiser and goes to confront him about it. A cute Joe x Kaiser confession story.

Other

Vanilla by kimbk, oneshot. A midnight baking project gone wrong! Gone sexual! Joe x Kaiser fluffy smut.

#punch out #not my writing #fanfic rec #seriously if you guys want me to add a fic or make another post of recommendations #send me an ask!#didn't put my own fics on here for obvious reasons but if somone wants me to add them I definitely will in the next one #nsft mention

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