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captain-mj · 11 months

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Vampire Part 4

The plot thickens and Ghost takes off his mask

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Soap had a hard time sleeping after getting all of his housework done. All he could think about was Alejandro’s offer and the way the two men looked intertwined. He thought of what it might be like to be between them. Threesomes had never been high on his fantasy list, usually it was bumped down by the numerous fantasies about vampires. Being bitten, biting, being picked up, being fucked in front of a mirror. Blasphemy and heresy in equal measures.

But a threesome just climbed higher on his list. His little crush on Ghost also just got a lot worse. He had never seen Ghost’s mouth not soaked in blood before. His lips were so red. His fangs poked into his bottom lip and he was so pale. More than that though, his throat had recent bite marks. Meaning Alejandro or someone else bit him often.

Soap’s heart fluttered in his chest and he ended up sitting up, needing to do something with his hands. He grabbed one of his sketchbooks and started to draw Ghost again. This time, he managed to get more of his face. Connecting it with the eyes he knew so well, he tried to piece him together.

He put music in and made sure his alarm was set. He tried his best to sleep most days but sometimes his circadian rhythm just wouldn’t let him. Between that and the adrenaline from earlier, he knew it was likely a losing battle.

Soap drew those fangs dripping in blood, his to be specific but you couldn’t tell from the sketch, and then tried to figure out what Ghost’s nose looked like.

Turns out even adrenaline wears off because he woke up to his alarm while drooling all over the sketch. He sat up slowly and his neck cracked.

“Fucking hell.” Soap stretched and wandered up around the house. He checked that there was a party nearby that the vampires could snatch people from before going up to his Ghost. In the morning, he’d go to the pack house to meet up with Farah, but for now, he’d hang out with Ghost. Like every night.

Soap smiled. When he became a familiar, he didn’t realize he would be a paid friend.

The door was locked.

The door was never locked.

“Ghost?”

“Go away.” Ghost sounded strained, like he was in pain.

Soap panicked. “Sir, are you okay? Is something wrong?”

Ghost didn’t respond.

“Sir, please.”

“Johnny.” Ghost said coldly and sternly. “I am fine. Just… come back later, please.”

Soap sighed. “Okay…” This was the second night this week that Ghost didn’t spend with him. It was selfish of him. But Soap was getting worried that Ghost had gotten… bored with him. He was immortal but he had long learned that didn’t mean much. They grew tired and bored of things quickly if they weren’t just right to catch their fancy.

In the room, Ghost felt like he was dying. His body ached all over. His ears kept ringing. His mouth had been stuffed full of cotton. Ghost hadn’t needed to breath in so long but he needed to right now.

The ski mask Soap had given him was ripped to shreds on the floor as Ghost gulped for air, but it just… wouldn’t go into his lungs. Nothing he did gave him relief from the suffocating feeling.

Something seared in his chest and there was a sharp pain growing.

Bloody tears ran down his face until his vision was red.

It didn’t stop until midnight and Ghost reluctantly knew when it was. His birthday. Technically, the day he turned but he didn’t know what his actual birthday was anymore. These days were always awful but never this bad. Usually there was just an uncomfortable feeling so he had no clue why his body decided to remind him what pain was.

He slowly ran his hands through his hair, feeling… something.

No.

NO.

His denial could only do so much though. His ears were pointed. And from the way it felt, rather long. Even if his mask wasn’t destroyed, there was no way it would cover them. Ghost looked at his nails, noticing they were longer and sharper, as well as a nice obsidian color. He’d be glad he no longer had to paint his nails if not for the growing hate in his soul.

Sometimes, when he was selfish or lonely or sad, he’d pretend he was human. Just… for a bit. It was easy if he didn’t look in mirrors or run his tongue over his teeth.

But the hands in front of him were not human. The way the hair tickled the tips of his ears was not human. Even his fangs fit differently in his mouth.

Ghost scratched at the flesh on his wrists, watching the darkened blood cover his nails. He felt sick. He’d need to eat soon. Soap had gotten him used to nightly feedings but… he couldn’t stomach going outside.

Rudy, the fucking psychic Ghost swore, knocked. “Simon, are you pouting about your lover again?”

Ghost tensed. “Don’t come in.” Mist was already pouring through the door as Rudy appeared in front of him. His face fell.

“Simon. It’s nice to see you again.”

Ghost looked away. “I can’t let Soap see me like this. Please don’t let him see me like this.”

Rudy sighed and knelt in front of him. “He’s into vampires you know. I don’t think he’d care if you look a little less human.”

“I don’t want to be less human. I feel like I’m pretty inhuman as it is.” Ghost let Rudy take his wrists. “New nails.”

Rudy hissed and shook his head. “You’re not healing thanks to the little transformation you decided to have. Used everything you got.”

Ghost didn’t like the implication that it was on purpose but he let it slide. “I’m not going out there. I don’t have my mask. And Soa-”

Rudy covered Ghost’s mouth to quiet him. “I know. I get it. Look, I just came back okay? You can have a nibble off me and then we’ll figure it out.”

Ghost relaxed and mumbled.

“What was that?” He mumbled again.

“Simon.”

“I said thank you… Also stop calling you that.”

“Would you prefer batling?”

“Nevermind.” Ghost pulled Rudy in his lap easily and nosed at his throat. He took a deep breath. All vampires smelled a little too sweet and Rudy was no exception, but he could also smell fresh running blood under his skin. He sank his teeth into Rudy, feeling him tangle his fingers in his hair. His eyes closed as he drank, holding his body even closer.

A simple tap on his shoulder and he pulled away, swallowing. Rudy leaned in and kissed him before licking the blood off his lips. “Not as good the second time around.”

Ghost nodded and kissed him back, feeling slightly less terrible. “How can I hide this?”

“You could just… not hide it? There’s no reason too.”

Ghost didn’t understand what Rudy meant. He was covered in scarring. He looked like the dead.

“You’re handsome.” Rudy smiled. “Even if you look a little older now.”

Ghost cupped Rudy’s face, examining him. He was perfect. Everything a vampire should be. A perfect predator.

Ghost was that when his mask was on. When no one could see.

Rudy pulled away and lightly kissed his cheek. “Do you need anything, handsome?”

Ghost laughed softly and smiled, his new fangs biting into his lip a little. “I’m fine.”

Rudy paused and softened a little. “You have a nice smile. You really should let people see it more. I know Soap would love it.” He teased but it was good natured. Gentle. Like he knew just how fragile Ghost was in this moment. His hand ran through Ghost’s hair. It was long and went to his shoulders, a nice soft ginger.

“Thinking of bleaching it.”

“Why?”

“It’s going to have to be seen more. I don’t know. Just think it might be smart.”

Rudy patted his head. “I’m liking the implications. Think you’d make a cute blond.”

Ghost was glad he was not well fed enough to blush. Rudy would tease him “Just… give me a little time.”

“Not too much though, you understand?” Rudy glared. “I don’t want you to get lost in your own head again. Does no good for anyone.” He did leave him alone though.

Interviewer: So why did you come back?

Price: Well, I know Simon’s birthday of course! This is the year when he goes through some changes. You’d think this stuff is gradual since we live forever but our bodies change fast, just spread out.

Interviewer: Interesting. Like phases?

Price: Precisely. First year, a vampire is a fledgling. They require a lot of care in those states. Especially if they were like him and unhappy about the change. You have to keep them fed, keep them from going into the sun, teach them what they need to survive. Then, when you reach a century, some vampires get gifts. Turn into a cat, turn invisible, stuff like that. Extra things that don’t always come with the package. And today. His 800th birthday. When your ears come in. He’ll finally be a grown up.

Interviewer: Did you warn him?

Price: I was going to but it seems I was a tad late. Didn’t want to interrupt him.

Interviewer: Right… Well, what was Ghost like as a fledgeling?

Price: This interview is over.

Soap was on the other side of the house, stressing about this decision. He finally decided yes, he did want to take Alejandro’s deal. So he found him.

Alejandro was lounging on the couch, clearly waiting for something. Soap was pretty sure it was Rudy.

“Alejandro, sir.”

“Yes?” He sounded mildly irritated to be interrupted in his lounging but he sat up anyway.

Soap sat next to him. “I… Your deal.”

Alejandro looked intrigued. “Yeah. The deal. You keep quiet and if you want, I show you what Ghost kisses like.”

“I want to know.” Soap said softly. Despite everything else he had done, sleep with Rudy, get felt up by Alejandro, watch Alejandro and Ghost do… things, for some reason, this made him nervous. It was just kissing.

Alejandro touched his face carefully and had him face him. He held him so tight Soap could barely move. Soap parted his lips to speak and Alejandro leaned in, kissing him softly. His eyes stayed open and so did Soap’s. It felt too intimate. Too much. Soap quickly closed his eyes. The kiss was… gentle. Not really what Soap had been expecting. He couldn’t lean into it thanks to the hands stopping him.

Alejandro pulled away too soon. “I’m rooting for you, little buddy. I think you two could be good for each other.” He smiled.

Soap was out of breath and flustered. “Thank you…”

Alejandro shook his head. “You’re cute. It’s endearing.” He stood up. “Rudy and Ghost seem to be busy. I’m bored.”

Soap hummed. “I had a party invite? It was so you guys could grab something but you could go there?”

Alejandro nodded. “Thanks Soap. Bat.” He turned into a bat and flitted off before Soap could respond.

Soap checked the time and since it was only a little bit after midnight but no one needed him, he caught up on the sleep he missed. It felt weird, but he decided that was better than trying to find out what Ghost and Rudy were doing together.

Gaz woke him up at 5:30 sharp. “You still going to the pack house?”

“Your boyfriend tell you?”

“Yes. I’m going to tell them I had you run errands for me so they don’t want to know where you’ve gone.”

Soap stretched and caught Gaz up on what little he knew about Ghost refusing to let him in or leave his room. Gaz looked a bit concerned. “I’ll talk to him. He has a soft spot for me.”

Soap knew that to be true. He had seen Ghost pick Gaz’s sides in house arguments he wasn’t even involved in and terrorize half of Gaz’s boyfriends. They acted more like siblings than roommates half the time. Made sense Gaz had Price as his adopted Dad. “Thanks, Gaz. I just… worry, ya know?”

Gaz was clearly trying not to make a face. “Sorry, your worry is just really sour and bitter. Trying not to breath too much.”

Soap laughed and got up. “Let me figure out what these werewolves want, yeah?” He fist bumped him and followed the directions to their house.

It was nice. A little smaller but with an actual car and a giant backyard. Three dogs were running about in it.

Soap knocked and all three dogs stood up.

Oh. Not dogs. Definitely not dogs.

They walked on their hindlegs over to him and he tried to not let the intense feeling of uncanny valley and nausea distract him.

Now that they were closer he could see their size and could pick out Alex. Alex waited until his front paws were on the fence to shift back. It meant Soap wouldn’t see him naked. Well… His lower half at least.

“Hey there!” Alex smiled. “Glad you could come.”

The other two werewolves grabbed blankets to wrap around themselves before joining. One was an older lady with blond hair and the other was Farah.

Farah rushed forward, careful to keep the blanket around here. “You’re early!” She smiled. “So here’s the deal. I need your help rescuing someone from a vampire. Once it’s sunrise, we’re going to sneak in and steal her.”

“And you need me why?”

“In case the vampire shows up of course! You’re The Ghost’s familiar. None of them are going to touch you.”

Soap hummed. He supposed there was a sliver of truth to that. But anyone who knew Ghost well enough, knew that Soap was not something he’d kill for. He liked the vote of confidence though. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

Farah smiled. “Thank you so much. This really means a lot to me.” She went inside, presumably to get dressed. The other lady had switched to a robe while he was distracted.

“My name is Kate, but most people call me Laswell. It’s nice to meet you.” She shook his hand and smiled. “Farah has been really worried about her girlfriend.”

Alex leaned in. “Just friend. Hasn’t asked her out yet.”

Laswell frowned. “Seriously?? Still? Jesus.”

Soap blinked at the word, pavloved into expecting a hiss or sizzling sound from one of his companions. There was nothing.

He missed his vampires all of sudden.

God, maybe he did need to get out more.

Farah came out and started to lead the way, ironically towards his house meaning they could’ve met up at his house and saved Soap walking at 6 in the morning but whatever. The other werewolves didn’t come with.

“So. This friend.”

“Her name is Malika. She’s been being controlled for who knows how long!”

Soap noticed she wore a choker around her neck. It looked odd with the rest of her outfit. It was plain, not made to draw attention but then she had black… lace? Satin? He didn’t know fabric. But it covered most of her skin.

“I have scarring.”

Soap quickly looked forward. “Oh. Sorry, didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s cool. Better than when a vampire asked if I liked being collared. Or you just asking. But yeah, I have scarring.”

“What from?”

“I just said I didn’t like being asked.” Farah huffed, but there was a lot more bark than bite to the words. “I didn’t always have a pack and people are cruel.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You got anything like that?”

Soap sighed. “Growing up Scottish in Britain was certainly not ideal. Neither was being gay. Can’t say I have any scars from it. Least not physically.” He grinned at her.

“Must have a ton of mental ones if you want to be a bat.”

“Hey, they’re cool. Live forever. Turn into a bat and fly.”

“Watch everyone you love die. Kill people nightly.”

Soap hummed. “Only bad people.”

“You think every vampire follows that?”

“Mine do.” When Soap was the one in control, but he didn’t let that slip. That night at the bar was different.

Farah didn’t seem to buy it. “Right. Well, we’re here.”

The house was disheveled and held together by tape. The windows were boarded up and Soap didn’t see how anyone, let alone a vampire lived there. They tended to be high maintenance with high standards.

“You sure?”

“Yep! Malika is in there and I have to save her and you’re going to help me.”

Soap sighed. “Yeah, alright.” He grabbed one of the wooden stakes that marked the fence and handed it to Farah before grabbing his own. He checked the sun to see it was well over the horizon. “Alright, they should be sleeping. If Malika is injured or anything, do you have medical supplies at your house?”

“Basic stuff for when we shift.”

“Okay, good. My house is closer but we’ll only go there if there’s an emergency okay? My vampires may also be asleep but its better if we can just bring her straight to your house.”

Farah nodded. “Agreed.”

They both snuck into the home through the front door. It was weird, not needing an invitation. Or having to invite them in behind him.

All these years had started to fuck with his brain and Soap was just now putting together how much it was. When he got irritated, his first instinct was to hiss. When he smiled, he rarely showed off all of his teeth anymore, as if he himself had a pair of fangs to hide.

It was occurring to him now that if for any reason Ghost changed his mind and refused to turn him, Soap would still be very different. Not only because a good chunk of his life would have been waisted on a pipe dream, but such deeply ingrained habits would haunt him.

How could he live as a human when open windows give him anxiety because what if sunlight comes in? When he knew what the wind through his hair from over a 100 feet in the air felt like?

Soap wandered further into the house. It was incredibly dark which not a good sign. The vampire may be a light sleeper.

Farah sniffed the air and started to lead again. She stayed quiet and moved slowly so Soap could keep up even in the pitch black areas. Soap felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he started to reach for Farah. But Farah gasped and rushed forward just as his hand touched her shirt.

“Malika.”

The lady was pretty, but that wasn’t the focus. The focus was the wound on her throat. Several bite marks, none of which were healed. Barely any blood dribbled out and she was so pale.

Farah scooped her up gently.

“My place.” Soap whispered. “Trust me, i-”

Something grabbed him by the back of his hoodie and yanked him off the ground. He felt weightless right before he smashed into the floor. The wooden stake slid towards Farah but she had her hands full with Malika.

“Just go.” Soap yelled before managing to get up and start running in the opposite direction. He made it down the hall before he felt it grab his feet and start to drag him further down.

It was big and clearly old. Very, very old. Soap wondered how many children it had. How many of those children had children. Poor thing, living like this. A vampire this old should have help.

Soap kicked it in its nose though because his survival comes first. He scrambled further away and it gave chase.

“Ghost! I’m Ghost’s familiar!”

It didn’t even understand him. It just kept coming.

Soap couldn’t find the exit. Every room looked the same. Luckily there was nothing else there.

He saw a loose board covering a window and yanked. The sunlight would keep it at bay long enough for him to get it open and get out.

“Ha. Bitch.” Soap grinned right before it lunged straight at him.

Straight into the light.

He watched it set alight. Watched it burn alive.

He didn’t want it to die.

Soap quickly tried to push it out of the light but it was too late. It hit the floor and shattered like porcelain. He stood there, frozen for a while.

“Oh no. Oh no no no.”

Soap reached into the dust, hoping to find something. Anything. A way to know its name.

He’d have to ask Malika. Hopefully the poor thing had enough intellect to tell her.

Soap wanted to cry. It had been an accident. He swore it was just an accident.

He started to head home quickly, wanting to leave what he had done behind. Maybe Ghost would be up. Maybe he could just ask him to sit with him while he buried his head in the blankets and pretended this never ever happened.

Soap closed the door behind him.

“Will you just shut up and let me help?” Alejandro hissed behind him.

Farah growled. “I’m not letting you feed off her.”

Rodolfo sighed and it was clear this was an ongoing argument. Soap wondered once again how long he had been out there. “Our saliva has healing abilities. She’ll bleed out at this rate.”

“It’s true.” Soap backed them up.

“Oh. Thought you were dead.” Alejandro said it so flippantly. Like it really didn’t matter.

Soap wanted to cry again and he blamed it on the already emotional day he was having.

“Glad you’re not?” Alejandro added awkwardly. “But anyway, let me help the little familiar. Don’t want her dying on my watch. Her master can be mad at you, not me.”

Farah snarled but Malika was getting paler and still was dead asleep, so she relented. She gently let Alejandro take here, stepping back just a tiny bit so she could still watch. Alejandro’s tongue flicked out, licking the wound just once. The skin started to stitch back together, but Alejandro didn’t give her back.

Instead, he turned to Soap. Both he and Rodolfo did. Price was on the couch, casually sharpening a blade.

“What happened?”

Farah hit his shoulder. “I told you what happened.”

Rodolfo sighed. “And we believe you, but we mean after you left him alone. You’re clearly fine. Any vampire worth their fangs would’ve ripped you to shreds for theft.”

“Told them I was Ghost’s.” Soap lied, hiding his ash covered hands behind his back.

“Ah. Makes sense. We can’t just… Soap, you can’t just do that!”

Soap winced. “Look, I’m sorry. I just wanted to help. Look at the condition she’s in.”

“It’s horrible but you can’t…”

Footsteps. Unsteady footsteps.

Soap heard Ghost’s voice as he stood on the steps.

Unmasked.

Ghost was unmasked.

He was blond.

He had bleached blond hair from the looks of it.

And freckles.

And pointed ears with little piercings.

And the soft ruby lips Soap thought about all the time.

“Don’t scold my Johnny. That’s my job.”

Price hummed. “Nice to see you again, Simon.”

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captastra · 4 months

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New OC Drop!

Meet Lethyan von Valancius, Rogue Trader! Art is done by the amazing @rowscara, thank you so much for bringing her to life 💗🥰 She looks amazing!! A little bit about her backstory under the cut.

Name: Lethyan von Valancius

Age: late 20s-early 30’s

Homeworld: Voidborn, Lethal Revenant, Frigate Class

Birthdate: XXX.M41

Origin: Psyker - pyromancer

Archetype: Warrior

Triumph: Feat of Greatness - The power of your sorcery crushed a daemon of the Archenemy and drove it back into the warp.

Darkest hour: Shadow of Torment - An error during the sanctioning process brought you many hours of agony, which nearly cost you your life.

Love Interest: Heinrix van Calox/Marazhai

Birth-10:

Lethyan was born on the Lethal Revenant. Her black eyes made her stand up, some welcoming her as a positive sign for the ship, while many others saw her as an omen of bad things to come. For the first 10 years of her life, Lethyan lived as relatively a normal life as any person did living on a Frigate that traveled through space and the warp. In her 9th year, Chaos swept through the ship, tainting those on the lower decks and causing havoc while they waited for the Lord of the ship to send enforcers to quell the evil. Lethyan always knew she was a little different, a little off. Never growing cold, having a knack of knowing things she probably shouldn’t. But when others from a neighboring clan, their bodies twisted and maimed, bones and tentacles growing from various parts of their bodies, started to attack her, Lethyan burned their bodies to a crisp.

10-20:

After the events that transpired on Lethal Revenant, it would be a few years before Lethyan is turned over to the Black Ships to be taken to Terra in order to become a sanctioned psyker. Eight years later, Lethan is ready to undergo the soul-bound ritual to prepare herself for a life of service to the Emperor. However as the trial goes underway, severe complications arise an Lethyan is forever tormented by what transpires. These events leave her unfit to continue the path that had been set out for her, to become an Astropath, her powers and ability to control them are to much to simply kill her. Lethyan is then assigned to work on various ships that would travel throughout the imperium.

20-30:

Traveling from ship to ship over the next few years saw Lethyan prove herself as a sanctioned psyker. Her abilities as a pyromancer were effectively used on and off the battlefield, wherever heresy attempted to reign, those she served used her well. Lethyan was content with her life, accepting her role as a psyker and continuously making sure to keep her powers in check as the effects of her soul binding ritual continued to haunt her. It was during her 27th year that one planet Lethyan’s current Lord had come to was overrun by the taint of Chaos. This attack left Lethyan at the hands of cultists, fighting against torture and torment to survive. It wasn’t until Salamanders came down to destroy the Chaos taint that she was rescued and brought before the Librarians to determine if she was tainted as well. Once clear if any Chaos taint or risk of being possessed by a daemon, Lethyan spent the next several years recovering from what she had been through.

30s+:

After several years of recovery, Lethyan was able to obtain a job on another cruiser ship. She was there for a year before she received a most surprising summons from someone she could not ignore for risk of her own life: Rogue Trader Theodora von Valancious required her presence aboard the ship [ship name I can’t remember]. Her arrival on the ship led to where she is now present day, the new Rogue Trader of house von Valancius.

#rogue trader #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40k rogue trader #oc: lethyan von valancius #art #others art

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bleedingichorhearts · 12 days

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𝕾𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖑 𝕰𝖒𝖇𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖊

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: I really wanted to create a Headless Horseman in the style of a Space Marine. I blame this post from @kit-williams. Not exactly like the book says, but… men. Also, I have found what those other alternatives look like “Blemmyes”

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

“How I Got Home” by SYML (thought it fit him.)

TW // Body Horror.

Anthelm feels for the area in front him, sensing the presence of this… this light. Something he hasn’t felt since the day he… arrived in this new world. It wasn’t the Emperor’s light, not a Primarch’s either, it was far too soft, too gentle for his master and his sons to achieve. Too weak and little for it to be them.

Too… laudatory.

Perhaps, it was a Psyker’s? No, he shot that thought down quick. There was no such thing in this world. No matter how far he has traveled this “Ancient Terra,” there was only the Adeptus Astartes Librarians. Psyker warriors created by their Primarchs gene-seed, grandchildren of the Emperor. He has yet or never met an a human on this world with the sorcery devoted into their souls. Such a thing seems to not exist in this world.

So, why does this lulling light have a pull at him? Why does this light call to him? Was this some type of trickery?

He attempts to try and ignore the strange light the first few weeks. Only for the feeling, the temptation to get stronger the moment he try’s to leave the area. Fighting, clawing, bitting at his thoughts like some rodent nawing at his brain matter. Fighting against his belief, his faith, his creed.

He was meant to seize this allurement. To overthrow it, kill it, banish it, just like he was tested with the daemons of the Chaos gods that lay beneath the Golden Throne. To test his incorruptible will, to be blessed the golden armor at the Golden Throne with the Emperors gold ridden eyes watching his newly appointed rank to serve underneath his hand and nothing more.

Anthelm done his duty underneath the Emperor of Mankind everyday then, never wanting to disappoint his Master, his Father. Abiding by every command voxed to him. Every unreasonable task until the days after the Horus Heresy.

Anthelm hasn’t expected to ever see the Emperor to look so dull, so… ungodly after the Heresy. The loss of too many limbs and mortal systemic damage far too great for the Emperors body to handle. Yet, the Emperor of Mankind still lives. His soul ridden remains never moving from his throne, rotting on it. Still commanding his rightful orders.

However, just because the Emperor lived on did not mean Anthelm could. He had died a few days prior to the Emperors fall. Perished, right on the battled soil of his god, his Emperors world. His thoughts not having enough time to call out to his master, his patriarch for his blessing of death for it had been rewarded quickly, gruesomely, dishonorably. His head being nothing but a pile of brain matter and crushed bone underneath the bloody hammer of a traitor, a Son of Horus.

He could feel his consciousness slip away through the voidness waves of the Warp when he died. His body feeling like he was just seamlessly resting above the ripples of the Warp, but he never moves, only the Warp did. Going around him, through him like slow moving wind. Never paining him.

Anthelm blankly wonders if his Emperor was giving him a second gift of life, to serve underneath his hand once more. Not wanting to lose another golden warrior of his to continue his battles. To not drown in the invisible waves of the Warp, to his death.

Though, the Warp seemed to be persistent, washing over at him, pressing effortlessly up against every pressure point it desired. Squeezing at him, crushing him, water boarding him like he was in the depths of water he shouldn’t be in. It felt like the Warp was… water torturing him. Burning his chest, his mind. Trying to get rid him, but he could still breathe and struggle within its unseeable and untouchable hold that drags at him, drowns him.

He longly waits for his conscience to leave him fully with silent, stuttering breaths. Unable to actually get a real sense of air into his lungs with the Warp winding up against him at every angle. Unable to hear what the Warp was doing to him.

Yet, he was beginning to see. To see a fraction of the Warp.

His “sight” started off as little white dots before it gradually grew like fire. Burning away at the solid thing in front of him before outlining it with white fire. The object in front of him pulsing with the flame like some infinite echolocation.

He reaches his hand forward, the strange white fire outlining his gauntlet as well as he touches the object. His fingers trailing over its rough texture. Feeling it out with his hands as this “sight” doesn’t provide him colors or details of the… dimension around him. It’s was like he was infinitely looking at a black and white eclipse. The pulsing edges of the white fire never making a flicker of noise.

Bark, he suddenly recognizes. He was touching the dry bark of a tree. He wasn’t in the warp anymore. He was on a different world.

How had he not noticed it? Has he been reborn? Resurrected? How come he wasn’t seeing any colors if he was? How come he couldn’t hear anything?

“H-HEADLESS HORSEMAN!” He hears a man stumble and scream, his head snapping in the direction of the shaking man. White flames engulfing the outline of the man, but it never burns the man as he crosses out his question on his ability to hear.

Although, headless horseman? What was that? Who was that? Was it something he should be wary of in this world?

He watches as the man smaller than him struggles with this… stick in his hand. Whimpering and shaking as his outlined head looks up and down between the stick and him before he points the stick at him? Was he telling him something—

A bullet ricochet’s off his armor, a ringing sound going off before a tiny thump where the bullet would land seemed loud between him and the whimpering man. It was then Anthelm registered that he was this “Headless Horseman.” His gauntlet coming come up to at paw at where his head would have been, but his “sight” was still there, where his eyes would be. How is such sorcery possible? …Did the warp do this to him?

The man shoots at him again. The bullet ricocheting off, scratching his armor as he quickly grows irritated by this man’s insolence. A inhumane growl leaving him despite him having no head to produce such noises.

He swipes down at the man. Giving him no time to react as he snatches the man from his neck and wastes no time to use his other to pull his neck back and away from him, exposing his neck to him. His muscles and bones popping in his neck before they tear themselves, spewing blood onto his armor before he rips his head off completely. Spine half intact in the foolish man’s body as he tosses both body parts off to the side. The stench of the man’s blood invading his senses.

Anthem shakes his “head.” The little light lulls at him again. Pulling his mind away from his first arrival on this paradise world. Tempting him once more, again and again. The white flames of his sight unable to get an outlining on this soft light in the distance. It felt like he should treasure this strange light, cherish it with his duty. Keep its light burning forever like a star. To protect it more than he would to his own master, his Emperor.

Throne, his mind drowns and burns every time he try’s to aknowledge the Emperor of Mankind. The Warp not wanting him to think such things since he found this light and at first, it made him want to extinguish this light.

How dare this simple light bring harm against his mind? How dare this light tempt him and promise him companionship, try and sway him from his duty’s?

Oh, but there wasn’t anything to abide to now, wasn’t there? There was no battles to be won. There was no important Emissaries to serve, and there was no Emperor on this planet to command him of his duty’s. It was only him, the Warp and this… suffocating light.

Throne, the little light.

He wants to touch it. To caress the edges of the light. To provide it what he was once known for. To harness its warmth it whispers, claims to have. He wanted to treasure this light. To admire every glowing perfection the light emitted.

He wants to be worthy of such a light, even if it was small. A fraction compared to the Emperor and Primarch’s. It was something he could protect and provide for once more.

‘Oh, he shall shield this little light, bestow it with anything it desires to pursue its ignited light and follow its enticing decree.’ He vows a part to himself. His “eyes” following the little light returning back into its domicile.

Anthem will not fail this little light of his.

#space marine husbandry sentience #warhammer 40k #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #space marine #space marine x reader #adeptus custodes x reader #elderich #dullahan #adeptus custodes #oc: anthelm #tw: body horror #he a lil lost golden boi

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sweeteaacakes · 15 days

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╰┈➤ ❝ WHB || Dance With The Devil ❞

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° The Bride & The Beast, Part 1

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° TW: canon divergence (rewrite), violence, religious stuffs (?), heresy (?),

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° [part 2] [part 3]

»»-----------►

Ebony hair like a raven. Brown eyes like the eclipse. The mirror imperfectly reflects the other side. White dress that covers her from neck to toes. On her head is placed a flower-crown to attach the veil. White and pure that show the stains of any impurity.

Today she will walk down the aisle along with other sisters to vow their loyalty to the Lord. A ceremony from a long time ago, now practiced by few.

Once the preparation was done, she met with the other sisters whose anticipation layered with the music of the organ and chorus. A hand on the heart syncs their breath of anticipation, each smiling at each other.

Then there was a deafening sound before the priest spoke to initiate the ceremony. His voice penetrated through the wooden door of the entrance. Once done with his speech the organ started to play and the choirs sang to welcome the sisters inside.

The eyes of those who attended smiled in awe. Their families and friends and acquaintances. Among those are eyes that only looked at her.

It’s from a dear friend with silent eyes and concerned smile that’s matching her sentiment, hoping for his presence to be a strength.

His attempt to smile, yet like he was gonna cry, flicked a spark that made her wanna laugh. But she held it back along with the tears.

She just sighed and smiled, feeling a bit more relaxed. It wasn’t long before her body felt light like she was floating instead of walking. Her mind is in a state of blankness. Was it because she was at peace? No, it was far from it.

She was torn. A part of her wants to turn around and run away but the current is so strong it’s sweeping her away.

Feeling powerless she kept her gaze down. Hand gripping the cross she's holding. But she can't ignore the light that is seemingly getting brighter. The music and voices, deafening. The temple, so big yet suffocating, is overwhelming upon the shoulder. Slowly crushing her.

The dress she's wearing, so fit and not allowing her skin to breathe. The veil dizzyingly blurs her vision.

Once reached the altar, she and the other sisters got on their knees and bowed to the cross. The music and choirs halted for the priest to talk. Words that are nothing but bleak to her ringing ears.

The cold and metallic object against her skin, underneath the layer of cloth, is the only thing keeping her mind focused.

A relic passed down to generation, an heirloom she holds dear.

A golden key with an unfading luster.

She doesn't want this. And yet here she stands in front of the idol that seemingly looks down on her…

“You’re so tense… are you scared?” A voice from somewhere asked.

She bit her lower lip and tightened her grip on the cross once more. With all her strength, she lifted up her head and opened her eyes to look at the figure of the idol above.

“No…” whether it’s to prove the unknown voice it’s the opposite, she replied because she knows the truth. “[He] isn’t the one who’s looking down on me… nor [He] is judging me… because [His] ever watching eyes are unlike the eyes of the many.”

Saying those words to herself felt like lifting off a weight and clarifying her mind. Somehow, she can feel the owner of the voice smiling. She has been hearing him for a while now. Well, dreaming about the voice at least.

He asked her name...

"Haeul Choi... Hannah... That's such a beautiful name. l

That name will protect you."

"What do you mean...?"

"You'll know by time. In time of need, you'll meet them..."

Hannah recollected the conversation she had with the voice before. It was reassuring yet mysterious. And as if it is by her side now, she felt a hand being placed on her shoulder for comfort.

“If only I was more witty enough... maybe even wise…” she continued with a piece of dismay still looming in her heart “...then I could have found a way out of this situation… but I only thought about myself and when the moment came it crushed upon me…”

She said, laughing at herself with pity. Past that she may have taken for granted and looking back now she realized she just ignored them for her own comfort until it led to the point she couldn’t do anything.

“Auntie… I’m sorry… I can’t…”

“What do you mean you can’t…?” Her aunt said in disbelief. Her face creased in distress. “You’ve been preparing for this for years! I dedicated my time! My money! And made connections just so they can perceive you in a good light! And now you’re telling me you can’t..!?”

“...!” Hannah stumbled seeing her aunt’s face of anger and hurt. But she bit her tongue and stood her ground. Minhyeok is behind her, ready to intervene in case things go out of control but his friend’s hand clenched in a fist hidden behind her back tells him she still can handle it.

Hannah wanted to try to reason.

“Auntie. I… I really appreciate that. Really! But I can’t walk there with belief so.. so unwilling! It would be disrespectful to you, everyone and to [Him]!” Hannah countered to give her point of view loud and clear.

There was a moment with hope flickering along with her aunt’s chest gradually heavy breathing and face turning red. Her hands were so fast that Hannah or Minhyeok didn’t have time to react.

Hannah’s arm was grabbed so quickly and pulled toward her aunt’s. Eyes and grip locked to not let her escape. Minhyeok held Hannah, hand slightly placed above on the aunt’s while he attempted to call her name but nothing stopped the rage of the woman.

“You…” Her aunt spoke with venom in her voice. With the other hand she grabbed her niece’s cheek. “...You will walk there, make your vow and chastise yourself so the curse you and your grandmother casted upon our family will burn in the fire of hell! …Understand??”

She tightened the grip on her jaw, nail digging so her niece may look at her directly in the eyes not caring whether she hurt her niece or the tears staining her cheeks.

Hannah still can feel the grip even now. But the ache in her heart was more painful. Did what her grandma really practiced brought nothing but curse…? Each time she thinks about it, it feels like she wants to shed her entire being.

“...My child, look up… You know you can overcome this. You’re strong…”

The voice encouraged her as if it felt her woe.

Hannah didn’t want to believe what her grandmother did was to harm but it’s the only explanation for… before her mind can go back to that event, it stepped back… maybe, living in penitence is the only way for others sake.

“Penitence is the way for Lord’s forgiveness…”

Another voice spoke. Unlike the previous one this made her flinch and look up. The warm light that shone through the stained glass gradually became intense.

At that moment, an ethereal man appeared surrounded by the light. He has an unique complexion like an ivory beautifully paired with the six wings on his back that gently flutter and the halo that adorned his head.

“But… Did I say?...” He spoke with a soft yet strong voice that echoed in the temple. His eyelashes fluttered as he closed his eyes. He smiled.

“Descendant of Solomon. Your only path to forgiveness… is death.”

»»———-　　———-«

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° AAAAAAAHHHH PART 1 HAS BEEN PUNBLISHED!!! PART 2 IS ON THEE WAAAYYYYY ♡ THANKS FOR READING ALL THE WAY HERE! HOPE TO SEE YOU IN THE NEXT ONE!!!

#.sweeteaa writes #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb fanfic #whb oc #whb satan #whb gabriel #whb minhyeok #whb x oc

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quotes-from-the-bookery · 4 months

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"Last year,” I said, “I crushed the skull of a man who thought he was a visionary. He wanted to save Callow, he insisted. Thing is, I don’t really believe you can save people anymore. I tried that and it doesn’t ever quite seem to work right. I think it’s because it doesn’t matter, if they worship at the House of Light or sacrifice at some dark altar – most days they’re just people, and those are the same everywhere. They till the same fields, pay the same taxes, marry their neighbours and die fat if they’re lucky enough."

“Named are more,” Archer said. “We’re the brighter flame: the people who can actually change things.”

“Are we?” I smiled. “The part of the Conquest you pay attention to is the Calamities sweeping all opposition aside. You think that’s because they were mighty, but that’s not the part that matters. They were figureheads, enablers. Praes won because it had grown as a nation while Callow had not.”

“The Empire grew because villains made it grow,” she replied flatly.

“And don’t you think it’s telling the most successful villains since Triumphant put their efforts into reforming institutions rather than building a bunch of flying fortresses?” I asked. “People won that war, not Named. Malicia and Black, they’re brilliant – but there’s been a lot of brilliant Named over the centuries, on both sides. What makes those two different is that they know change comes from the bottom, not the top.”

“That’s…” she hesitated.

Heresy, she wanted to say. That it went against everything we knew. History was forged by the hands of those that stood out and crowned themselves with power, those precious few even the Gods recognized as apart from the masses. Except that’s a lie. A thousand Dread Emperors and a thousand Kings, but nothing ever changed – until what lay behind them did. It’s not the tip of the blade that kills, it’s the force that drove it into your belly. That was, I was beginning to grasp, what I’d done wrong in Callow. I’d fought to put all the authority in my hands with the vague notion that I could fix it all afterwards, but how was that any different from what the Lone Swordsman had been doing? There were people all over the Empire who could make things better, if they were allowed to. And if there were forces trying to stand in the way? Well, I was a villain. The parts of Creation I did not like, I would break.

“Right now I have an enemy in Liesse who thinks by sheer will and ruthlessness she’ll drag Praes back to a golden age that never existed,” I said. “I’m not worried about her, deep down, because even if she claims I’m the one going against the grain she’s the one fighting the tide.”

I broke off a piece of turnover and popped it into my mouth.

“Last spring, a little boy gave an orc a crown of flowers. There’s something beyond any of us happening in the Empire, right now,” I said. “Malicia and Black think they control it, but I don’t think they do. They’re watching the story when what’s important is the people telling it. They want me to part of the machine they’re built, but I don’t think that’s my role.”

“Then what is?” Archer asked quietly.

“When heroes and villains come knocking in the name of fate,” I spoke, tone calm and measured. “When they try to drag us back to where we were by force with a Choir behind them or the host of some howling Hell – I’ll kill them all. Every last one of them.”

Softly, Archer laughed.

“Ah, Foundling,” she murmured. “I was wrong about you – you’re not boring at all. You’re just as mad as the rest of us.”

I looked up at the sky. Night was dying.

“Drink up, Archer,” I said. “Dawn’s coming and we have a god to rob blind.”

#practical guide to evil #pgte #erraticerrata #quotes

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existennialmemes · 8 months

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A Culturally Updated Dante's Inferno:

Level 1 (Limbo): Unbaptized infants and virtuous pagans sit in a mall food court. The food isn't great, but there's some cool people there

Level 2 (Lust): Sinners are perpetually 15 and unpopular, in a high school cafeteria, on Valentine's day

Level 3 (Gluttony): Sinners are compulsively ordering Amazon packages, unable to stop even as each new package is stacked on top of them, until they are completely crushed beneath them over and over

Level 4 (Greed): Sinners are US CEOS price gouging the cost of living, but every commodity they raise the cost of disappears from their life, until they can't survive and then it starts over again

Level 5 (Wrath): Sinners are customer service reps for a children's party location, perpetually trying to calm down Karen Parents, who only become more belligerent as they try to placate them

Level 6 (Heresy): Sinners are trapped in a perpetual Twitter flame war with Ben Shapiro, whose followers insist he's winning no matter how clearly and consistently they demonstrate his failures

Level 7 (Violence): Sinners are playing Call of Duty with 12 year olds, but as the game characters, not the players

Level 8 (Fraud): Sinners are trying to survive being lost in the woods, but their survival gear are knock offs from Wish

Level 9 (Treachery): Sinners are a minimum wage employee in a retail store during black Friday in 2008

#shitpost #shitposting #dantes inferno #parody #book parody

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luke-hughes43 · 5 months

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Telling Luke About Deciding to Go with Him | Luke and Stella

(the third part of Stella transferring, also has an insta post to go with it. this is shorter than the other two parts but is filled with bone curshing fluff between luke and stella.)

Goes with Leaving Umich

Stella’s POV

So, I have decided to go with Luke to New Jersey. We haven’t talked about it since that first night he asked me, so he doesn’t know that I’m going to do it. Luke and I are having one last date night before the frozen four and him ultimately leaving after next weekend.

He’s coming over and I’m cooking dinner for us. He comes in and hugs me from behind leaving a soft kiss on my cheek. I smile, “Hey lukey.”

“Hi stel. Smells good.”

“Thank you. Sit, so I can finish cooking.” He obliges and sits at the counter to watch me cook. It’s little moments like these with Luke that I’m thankful for. Once I finish cooking and we eat, Luke offers to clean up. His reasoning, “I can’t cook but I can clean. So I’ll clean up, you relax.”

I roll my eyes playfully and let him clean up. I sit on the counter near the sink and watch him clean up. We’re talking about our day full of classes and then practices. I say softly to him, “So I thought about your offer a few weeks back. About heresy and going with you.”

“Ok.” He says encouraging me to continue.

I smile at him, “If the offer still stands, I’d love to go to jersey with you.”

He freezes and there’s a huge smile on his face. He stops what he’s doing and gives me a bone crushing hug. He lifts me off the counter and spins me around. I hold him tight as he spins me. I’m giggling the whole time. He finally puts me down and pulls me in for a loving kiss. We both have big smiles on our face as we pull away. He practically whispers, “You’re coming with me?”

I nod enthusiastically, “I’m coming with you.”

He leans in to kiss me again and we basically just make out in my kitchen. He pulls away and says, “I’m so glad your coming with me.”

“Me too.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yea.”

“Do you actually want to come with me or are you doing it because you feel obligated to?”

“I want to go with you. I honestly, probably would’ve thought about transferring regardless of if you asked to come with you. This just makes my search for a new school a lot easier. I promise Luke, I want to do this.”

“Good. I just don’t want you to think you have to go to Jersey just because I am. I wouldn’t have been mad or upset if you said no.”

“I know. I want to come with you Luke, I promise.” I say looking into his eyes to let him know how much I mean it. He smiles and kisses me again. He says, “I’m not coming back after Tampa. Win or lose, I’m going to jersey from there.”

“I know. I knew as soon as you told me that you were signing that you’d be leaving from Tampa. It’s ok. We’ll figure it out like always Luke. Let’s worry about later, for now, just spend time with your girlfriend. Who by the way, loves you so much.”

“Well, I love her too. So fucking much. She’s my best girl.” He says while kissing me. I blush relentlessly and smile. He’s been calling me his best girl for almost 3 years and it gets me every time. I’m glad that I made the decision to go to jersey with him, he’s the best thing that ever could’ve happened to me. I say quietly to him, “I love you Luke Hughes.”

“I love you Stella Zegras.”

#stella zegras #luke hughes #umich hockey #new jersey devils

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divinecomedyproductions · 7 months

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I think I also want to explain my big bias about romance in epics: a heavily opinionated thread

Keep in mind, I’m not trying to throw shade at any indie creators who do this, just trying to explain my style and why

I really don’t like “Star-Crossed” Lovers and “Love interest to be built up and killed off” tropes. Not sure I ever did honesty.

I get why they work, they just don’t work for me. Unless like Peter Parker they get another chance again.

And three franchises were the final straw for me, and what drove me to go indie along with being inspired by indie works of others

First it was RWBY the tragic end of Arkos and what I feared to be sane of Black Sun among others along with the doomed fate of Oscar Pine

I tried to express my distaste of it on tumblr on my past accounts and RWBY wiki discussion forum(big mistake, I know) and I regretted it so much

Never had I met a fanbase so arrogant, self righteous, and sanctimonious about this kind of stuff, going on how amazing these tropes and dark stories like RWBY initially seemed circa V3-Finale along with Madoka Magica and Akame Ga Kill were and sneering at anything even one shade lighter than that

They were either passive-aggressively judging and gaslighting me, or outright lecturing me

How a epic story that has Dork knight and a lonely warrior woman isolated by society crushing on him, or a unlucky moody girl and sunshine himbo, a doomed hero having a well earned happy ending, especially if it involved resurrection as a good thing was nothing but “pandering”, petty, and worthless and the preference of the weak and cowardly

Even one fan said “people don’t find that interesting, sorry.” And that another fan seemed to stated characters like Pyrrha and Jaune are only fit for tragic endings because “that’s the kind of character she is” both of which these fans spoke as these things were gospel, or they themselves had some kind of storytelling authority

Then I heard about Superman and Lois Lane getting married and having a kid and even Bruce and Selena getting hitched, until hearing both marriages get trashed along with a few others

Along with the defense Dan Didio gave

It was absolutely MADDENING to me

"Heroes shouldn’t have happy personal lives. They are committed to being that person and committed to defending others at the sacrifice of their own personal interests.

That’s very important and something we reinforced. People in the Bat family their personal lives basically suck. Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon and Kathy Kane. It’s wonderful that they try to establish personal lives, but it’s equally important that they set them aside. That is our mandate, that is our edict and that is our stand."

Like, these guys want to hopeful, but only in certain ways the pop-culture/literary ‘intellectuals’ deem acceptable as well as what they deem to be ‘interesting’ and what I had in mind did not only not qualify, it was seen as outright heresy

When I brought this up in my grievances with stories like RWBY, one holier-that-thou jerk supported it because

“Single Batman and Superman sells well”

After writing my preferences off as “pandering” and only for the likes such as Disney and Marvel,

The Self-Centered hypocrisy was staggering because what he said and his many followers were basically saying this;

“We don’t like it when your niche interest stuff is forced into our stuff, but when the case is in the reverse? We’re totally cool with that, and we hope it keeps happening.”

other fans said what I wanted was only for sitcoms, imposing themselves as gatekeepers of *epic storytelling itself*

From where I was standing, there is a growing hatred of couples in epics go through and making it and even getting married and having children, especially those of certain dynamics all under the guise of “hopepunk” and “The Greater Good.” Or whatever the term is now

Prattled on by conceited fandoms who in my opinion, have become a bunch of literary snobs who think way too highly of themselves

Who go around deciding what ways are legitimate “raised stakes” and “consequences”,

both which might I add are defined by their *own* standards,

along with their own preferences, especially fates for of certain kinds of ships and characters, which they flaunt as “objective” and above those of “the unwashed masses” in order to justify glorifying them as well as themselves for liking them

youtube

Which then afterwards these fandoms pressure these standards onto aspiring writers such as myself or be exiled to sitcoms, romcoms, Disney, or Marvel.

Because it’s not “entitlement” if it’s directed at the peasants I guess.

That along with the fact their so insecure and discontent with just being different, they need to feel superior than others for their own preferences

Nor they can’t handle the idea somewhere out there there is story that have characters like the those of the stories they enjoy, but with a different outcome

All epic fiction, its characters, its settings, its themes, its use of its inspirations, the creator’s style needs to begin and end on terms of these self-appointed arbiters who, once again, try to justify by presenting their preferences, tastes, and “personal emotional beats” as objective and superior

And once again: I’m *NOT* saying creators who goes with the tragic romance route are bad or malicious, most of them are just doing their thing

This problem lies with sycophantic individuals among fandoms who appoint their chosen champion’s ways as law and act offended on their behalf, even though they never spoken to these creators personally nor did these creators asked them to pick up a sword in their name and are not held accountable for their behavior

And what’s worse, is that these groups imply epic stories where heroic couples get married and have families are allegedly incompatible outside of Disney or Marvel or else it ends up as terrible story

Which they will imply is the case for stories like DragonBall Z, Sword Art Online, and Naruto/Boruto

But when *their* way of doing things ruins a franchise like DC comics and people complain about it?

It’s the whining of unwashed masses or vocal toxic minority opposed to the enlightened few or informed majority

Because *their* way makes everything better and always will

It’s incredibly self absorbed and narcissistic

So that’s why I’ve been so keen on having my heroes find love, get married and having families. Especially ones who’ve been through so much sorrow.

I’m just weary of this and tired of fandoms telling me when I’m disappointed;

“It’s not for you” and implying “nothing should be for you and everything should be for us”

And I’m certain I’m not the only one who feels this way

You don’t have to share my personal tastes and distaste’s in story beats in epics, once again, I just want you guys to understand.

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sleepybunn-y · 5 months

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Introducing my current PC’s!!!

Tomie:

———

- Specifically named after Junji Ito’s Tomie because A. I like the name and B. I think every PC has a little Tomie in them. She just has a lot. But without the murder. Yeah.

- Star-sign is pisces.

- Favorite animal; doe.

- Only child; parents died in murder-suicide of which she was a witness.

- Severe survivors guilt.

———

- Tries to act like “normal” people and fails miserably. Frustrated by her social incompetency.

- Struggles with her mental health due to that isolation. Very close with Harper. Almost infatuated with him in a way. Odd.

- Very unaware, or at least that’s how she wants to be. If she sees things others don’t she gives no indication.

- Almost as unpopular as Kylar in school and so they spend a lot of time together. Despite this, she doesn’t really like him. Thinks his obsession is flattering though.

- Her room is as filled as Bailey will allow with stuffed animals. (Whitney’s twin fr 🤞🏻)

- Owns one stuffed bear from her life before the orphanage. Her one prized possession.

- Very fashion oriented, closet is stuffed with clothing.

- Makes most of her money as a model.

- Aspirations to become a professional model or a lawyer. Whichever is easiest.

- Angel motif, not an actual angel.

- Genuinely thinks Avery is a sweetheart.

- Feels as though she’s been forsaken by God.

- Would do almost anything for affection.

- Just wants to be loved.

Anthy:

———

- Named after Anthy Himemiya because I like that name. Heresy to name a character this pale after Anthy but whatever.

- Star-sign is Cancer.

- Favorite animal; bunny.

- Only child; parents died in house fire.

———

- Biggest whore in town. Proud town bicycle. Fucks for free. Enjoys the agency found in willingly giving her body away.

- An it girl. Very popular in school and out.

- Despite her obvious attraction to all things profane, she’s very active in the temple. She’s mostly just curious about the goings on.

- She is not well liked in the Temple. Like, at all. I don’t know why they let her stay to be honest.

- Ivory Wraith apologist. Thinks the tentacle thing is weird but is dtf whenever.

- Doesn’t really like Sydney as a person. Feels like he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Honestly a bit frightened by him.

- Also doesn’t appreciate how malleable he is.

- Doesn’t like Sirrus either. He’s a weirdo.

- Also struggles with mental health issues (what PC doesn’t tbh) but distrusts Harper. Doesn’t understand how nobody else sees through his bullshit.

- Makes most of her money at the cafe doing gross things for gross amounts of money.

- Weird about anime. Like in the way I imagine Kylar is. A weeaboo if you will. She’s dl with it though, doesn’t want to freak people out.

- Big Wren fan. Has a crush on him and feels strange about it. Doesn’t like that she’s gotten attached, especially to a guy like him.

- Shit at blackjack. Maybe on purpose.

#i redesigned anthy bc they looked too similar #i really like blunt micro bangs okay #anyway #they’re like alternate universe versions of each other #that’s my headcanon for every pc btw #even ones that aren’t mine #:D #degrees of lewdity #dol pc #dol pcs #degrees of lewdity pc #digital art

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wen-kexing-apologist · 1 month

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Rose's Day of Asks

Ok. I know I already sent you one. But now I really wanna now your answer to this one too. So pick the one you prefer.

Characters not actors. Let's put together a TTRPG group for a one shot. Who are you inviting?

Have a great Day💜

Yay! Thank you for giving me this question!

On behalf of socially awkward, queer autistic kids everywhere, let me introduce you to my one shot party:

Shin, 3 Will Be Free

Quiet, kind, nerdy, smart-ish, lucky, and in need of friends? I think Shin would be a perfect candidate for a one shot. He seems like the kind of player who might not say much at the beginning, but would get ahold of the game quickly, would be comfortable with the improvisational aspect of a TTRPG, and would probably come out of his shell the longer he plays.

Heart, Moonlight Chicken

This is very much so that he has a reason to get out of the house. Honestly, Heart has been severely undersocialized the last few years, and has mostly stuck around Li Ming and Li Ming’s community since then. I’ve set entire parties up before just to give people better access to a queer community, I would 1000% set up a one shot just to give Heart a chance to make friends outside of Li Ming’s social circle. Plus I genuinely think he would be good at it.

Aylin, 23.5

The hardest part of recruiting Aylin to play a TTRPG is getting close enough to her for her to listen to me. But the second she is presented with the knowledge that she could play…mm….Githzerai or some sort of Dark Heresy style game where she has any opportunity to play an alien, I think she would be there.

Zhou Zi Shu, Word of Honor

You know I almost put Wen Kexing on here, because he’s a #dramaticbitch but he’s the type of #dramaticbitch that would probably be annoying for everyone else at the table. Zhou Zi Shu, however, is a smart, charismatic #dramaticbitch with a modicum of self restraint, and I would absolutely refuse to let him play a monk or fighter because I will not be arguing with him about martial arts. Thank you.

Im Han Te, Sing My Crush

Im Han Te gives off the kind of jock-who-secretly-loves-nerdy-shit vibes that I think he would absolutely kill it in a TTRPG group. Not only that, but I fully can picture him getting in to mini-painting as a hobby. He’s also sociable but not imposing and clearly has a penchant for adopting introverted queer kids so I think he’d be a great resource for the other people in the group, and he’d 100% help them figure out the rules if they didn’t know how to play.

Erika, KinnPorsche

Would I allow Zhou Zi Shu to play a martial class? Absolutely not. But, Erika? Oh she’s only allowed to play a gunslinger. Mostly because I think she deserves to have even fancier and more badass guns in her arsenal. Also you know she’d come up with such a badass character, and she’d make my life a living hell in the best possible way if I was GMing the game.

#kinnporsche #sing my crush #23.5 degrees the series #word of honor #moonlight chicken #3 will be free

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justforbooks · 12 days

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CJ Sansom

Lawyer turned novelist who enjoyed huge success with his bestselling Shardlake historical mysteries

The novelist CJ Sansom, who has died aged 71, saw the dream of many aspiring writers come true when in mid-career he swapped a routine occupation for the life of a widely acclaimed, chart-topping novelist. By 2020, the former lawyer’s Shardlake historical mysteries had sold almost 4m copies. He built up a fan-base vast enough to guarantee that a new title would enter the UK bestseller charts at number one.

Sansom’s switch, however, was no lucky break but the fruit of deep thought, hard work and struggle against stiff odds. He overcame the blight of intense early suffering to create a much-loved series of novels conspicuous for their intelligence, integrity and humanity. An underlying idealism united the two, very different, halves of his professional life.

His debut novel Dissolution (2003) introduced the hunchbacked Tudor lawyer Matthew Shardlake, who investigates a death at a Sussex monastery menaced by the assault on England’s religious orders led by Henry VIII’s chief minister, Thomas Cromwell. Over the next decade, further Shardlake titles appeared, and succeeded, at regular intervals: Dark Fire (2004), which won the Crime Writers’ Association award for historical fiction, Sovereign (2006), Revelation (2008), Heartstone (2010) and Lamentation (2014), with a plot set in the paranoid, heresy-hunting atmosphere of London during the final act of Henry VIII’s reign.

Set in London, Sussex, Norwich, Portsmouth and York, the books map not just the topographies but the mentalities of mid 16th-century England. They indirectly mirror, too, the political ferments of Sansom’s own age: Heartstone sees a spin-obsessed king unleash a disastrous foreign war. The seventh Shardlake novel, Tombland, its writing delayed by the author’s serious illness, appeared in 2018.

He claimed that the character of Shardlake, the Lincoln’s Inn lawyer disfigured from childhood, dropped into his head “fully formed”. Shardlake finds himself reluctantly immersed in the cruel and devious political intrigues of the 1530s and 40s. He remains a reflective outsider who seeks to help those bruised or crushed by the upheavals of an age of tumult. His disability gives him solidarity with outcast people.

In an interview, Sansom once spoke of the depression left by his early anguish as “the monkey on my back all my life”. The connection with his series hero could hardly be clearer.

Shardlake is both a man of his times – all the books rest on a bedrock of thorough, sometimes original, historical research – and a credible proxy for the 21st-century reader in the dogma-driven era of Henry VIII and his heirs. Sceptical, curious, free-thinking, he has sympathy with the Protestant reformers but feels alienated from the savage realpolitik practised by his patron, Cromwell.

Shardlake dwells in a sharply rendered, richly detailed Tudor England but stands outside it by virtue of his inquisitive, open-minded humanism. “I’m not saying a man like Shardlake did exist then,” Sansom commented, “but he could have, where even 20 years earlier he couldn’t.”

Born in Edinburgh, Chris was the son of a Scottish mother, Ann, and English father, Trevor, a naval engineer. An only child, he remembered his upbringing as Presbyterian, constrained and conservative (“with a small and a capital C”). Later, this private man who shunned attention-seeking gestures would nonetheless emerge as a vehement opponent of Scottish nationalism – part of his general distrust of any “politics based on national identity”, which he found “anti-rational, demagogic” and always destructive.

His Shardlake novels depict the dilemmas and ordeals that face a sensitive, compassionate man in a brutal and treacherous society. Sansom’s own, formative experience of persecution and survival under a despotic system took place at school. At the elite George Watson’s college in south Edinburgh, he endured sustained bullying that left him on the brink of suicide. Much later, he revealed that his “inattention” – which today might be diagnosed as Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) – had made him the scapegoat of “vicious” teachers and pupils alike.

He described his school-age self as “seriously mentally ill: completely isolated … consumed with rage, plagued by migraines and tormented by thoughts of suicide and burning down the school”. At the age of 15, he took a “massive” overdose of his mother’s sleeping pills. Despite, or perhaps because of, this teenage misery, he developed a profound interest in history, politics and the workings of state power that would fuel both wings of his career. While still young, he recalled, “I arrived in my head at a sort of radical, independent socialist position which … I’ve basically retained.”

Sansom’s harrowing schooldays led to a spell as a voluntary in-patient at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. “I think the staff there saved my life,” he remembered, “just as Watson’s almost destroyed it.”

At Birmingham University he studied history as an undergraduate, then stayed on to research a PhD on mid-century Labour party policy towards South Africa. Rather than continue with academia, however, he qualified as a solicitor and spent much of the 1980s and 90s devoted to legal aid work, seeking to help vulnerable people. Living in Brighton, he attended writers’ groups as a hobby but never considered literature as a means to earn his living.

In 2000, his father’s death left him with a small legacy. He decided, without much hope, to try his hand at full-time fiction, though allowed for the possibility that: “I would be back in the law within the year.”

To his surprise, Dissolution rapidly found an agent. Publishers bid eagerly for the title (with Pan Macmillan becoming his UK home). Inspired in part by Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose, it reached two prize shortlists, and won over not only crime-fiction fans but a broad span of readers fascinated by the Tudor period and the distant mirror it holds up to our own fragmented times. Sansom had discovered, as he said, “how like the 20th century it was in its anxiety and uncertainty, even though people thought so differently then”.

Dissolution preceded Hilary Mantel’s Wolf Hall by six years in its portrayal of Cromwell and his circle – although Sansom’s chief minister is a much darker figure than Mantel’s. Among authors of historical mysteries set in medieval or early-modern England, he became a rare male luminary in a genre dominated by women, from pioneers such as Ellis Peters (Edith Pargeter) to Sansom’s contemporaries, such as Susanna Gregory.

Over the next decade, the Shardlake titles became regular fixtures in the bestseller lists. Adapted versions for BBC Radio extended the books’ appeal, even though Sansom – who continued to live in Brighton – experienced more than a touch of imposter syndrome. “I still half expect to wake up in a meeting about the latest legal aid forms,” he once said.

His mass-market popularity won him some unlikely fans. Shortly before she resigned in 2019, the then prime minister Theresa May bizarrely inaugurated a miniature library (housed in a redundant phone box) in her constituency by donating her copy of one of Sansom’s books. No figure, and no event, could have been worse suited to a writer who believed in a properly-funded public sector and detested the politics of nationalism and xenophobia.

Sansom’s two non-Tudor novels proved the breadth of his talent: Winter in Madrid (2006), with its accomplished depiction of a captive nation, set in the Spanish capital during the gloomy aftermath of Franco’s victory in the civil war, and the remarkable Dominion (2012), which reanimates the hackneyed genre of counterfactual history with its chillingly believable account of Britain as a satellite state of Nazi Germany in 1952. “Given the right circumstances fascism can infest any country,” a character in Dominion remarks.

That novel presents Scottish nationalists as accomplices of fascism and ends with an afterword that excoriates the policies of the (actual) Scottish National party. In all Sansom’s books, history’s convulsions test thinking people who try to stay decent and honest in tough times. He acknowledged that he had “found myself particularly drawn to the moral dilemmas the literate classes often find themselves in at times of ideological conflict – whether Reformation England or the second world war”.

In 2012, Sansom was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, an incurable bone-marrow cancer, and began to receive chemotherapy. Lamentation followed two years later, but medical treatment inevitably slowed his pace of work.

Yet the voluminous Tombland, published in 2018, proved one of the most richly imagined and researched of all his Tudor mysteries. Shardlake is caught up in the wave of rebellions that shake the realm of the boy-king Edward VI in 1549: “A colossal event that has been much underplayed”, in the author’s words. The typically scholarly essay attached to the book framed this emphasis on poor and marginal people as an overdue antidote to “the ‘royalisation’ of popular Tudor history”.

Sansom lived quietly in Brighton, on his own, and worked with a fierce dedication. Illness put a brake on his output but never doused his determination. He avoided the limelight, and once listed among his pet hates Facebook, Twitter and Christmas – as well as the “really ridiculous” television series, The Tudors.

In 2023 Sovereign, the third Shardlake novel, was staged by York Theatre Royal as a large-scale community production at King’s Manor, York, where much of the novel is set. A four-part television adaptation, Shardlake, directed by Justin Chadwick with Arthur Hughes as the eponymous lawyer and Sean Bean as Cromwell, is due to be screened on Disney+ this week.

A good man in trying times, his Shardlake became a firm friend to countless admirers. Erudite but approachable, his creator spoke engagingly about his work in a voice that bore soft traces of an Edinburgh upbringing. Above all, the one-time solicitor ceased never to explore the meaning of justice – or to tell timeless truths about power and its victims.

🔔 Christopher John Sansom, novelist and lawyer, born 9 December 1952; died 27 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #CJ Sansom #in memoriam

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gilettefusion5 · 29 days

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Being a cleric of Mystra and romancing Gale is insane. I feel so bad for my tav, she’s out here trying to serve her goddess as best she can and she has the unfortunate luck of meeting and falling in love with Mystra’s ex-boytoy. She can’t decide whether to try to sleep with him or murder him. On the one hand, she’s got a crush and doesn’t want him to blow up, on the other hand she’s fully disturbed by this man’s flippant descriptions of his sex life with her goddess and constant heresies. She’s got six migraines and none of them are from the tadpole.

#match made in heaven honestly #galeposting #storytime with lucy #Jeanette plays bg3

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quietbluejay · 4 days

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Angel Exterminatus 9

is he actually on the defensive here?

that's not what you were mainly doing but this does successfully shift the conversation topic

Oh, Fulgrim went full Nietzsche.

But also I don't actually know that Perturabo meant wrong in the moral sense here. but, then again, Fulgrim is also trying to go "i reject your reality and substitute my own"

(eyes emoji)

(eyes emoji repeated four times)

snap

I wonder if he knows that Fabius murdered Soulaka yet

He's got a point you know

WHEEZE How very 40k.

whatever reason/plot he suckered perturabo into doing this for is still up and running

This is not going to go the way that Perturabo thinks it will.

mood this is weirdly the most personally relatable perturabo has been in this entire book I realize saying that makes me come off like a maniac

kroeger is just here for violence and i respect that just realized something kroeger would get along swimmingly with the combaticons aside from the whole fact that they're alien robots and he's as xenophobic as the rest of the imperium and he's human* and the Combaticons are as anti-organic as any given Decepticon *blah blah transhuman blah blah so the answer is simple: we trap vortex and kroeger together inside a get-along body bluejay you can't have sticking two people together inside a get-along body be the solution to everything

forrix is the only one with any scintilla of common sense in this book well maybe wayland has some

anyways i think this was the bit that @krynnmeridia said was "one of the best scenes in the entire Horus Heresy"

OH the next interlude is baby fulgrim outsider POV this time

ah i figured out whither ferrus in the last interlude he's attempting to haunt the narrative but not doing a very good job of it you could say his flesh is his flesh was too

i will not apologize for bad jokes

Perturabo is the guy on a dev team who avoids getting promoted like the plague the project manager is his nemesis a lot of the time he's also The Worst to have reviewing your code

he's repairing his limited edition transformers figure warhound titan automaton

"what's giving up one more oath" vs "keeping my word is all i have" but also perturabo's lack of initiative strikes again "part of him looked forwards to it, because then he would be free of his debt to fulgrim" get help, please oh wait i forgot this was warhammer

okay if 40k Guilliman's song is Tongues by Joywave and Mortarion's song is Radioactive by Imagine Dragons I'm never going to let that one go either Sorrow by The National then Perturabo's is Sea Lion by Sage Francis, Or maybe Waterline.

Ma, Ma, look what I did, Ma Look what I did to my hands, I broke em You gave me the stone, gave me the chisel Didn't say how to hold em Didn't say give away every piece of the puzzle Till I was left with nothing But I took it upon myself to crush it up and distribute the dust Get in the bus, hop in the van Jump in the water, crawl to the land Build another castle out of the sand Break it down and then I get into the saddle again Going city to city I'm already lost, tell the boss Who is new in town I'm-a ride this horse till it bucks me off And I'm forced to shoot it down

come for the overused meme reactions, stay for the mid 2000s hip hop recs

even in this freaking book i can't escape McNeill simping for Magnus

I'm pretty sure this is Ahriman's wine, ftr

BAD especially since at the beginning of the scene it mentions how tired he is hey so like are their things that can drain your life force in 40k? ...what would Fulgrim even DO with his life force, though? eat it??? I still have a bad feeling about this though

a lot, actually especially if he considers himself expendable or that his sacrifice would be worth it

concerning!!!

oh yeah a thought re: the entire play which is that mcneill, writing a book with no female characters, had to wedge in a spot so he could be weird about women

Definitely some kind of life drain

lmao is it though i think the one thing iron warriors do better than anyone else is no, perhaps i am being too mean. i shall remain silent.

lmaooo that's the first time I've seen anyone call an Ultramarine a popinjay, that's not their usual type of epithet

Help why is this so funny don't stare into the warp and drive, kids! it'll come back and bother you while you're trying to work

I am feeling the Maoism in this Chilis tonight

Methinks the primarch doth protest too much (re dramatics)

i dunno i feel like the enemy you saw kills you a lot of the time in war but what do i know

Hey remember all that dramatic irony with Lorgar back in the very long opening of Know No Fear? Yeah.

okay i know Perturabo survives this because he's at the siege of terra

Annnnd I hit image limit. To be continued next time!

#warhammer 40k #bluejay reads warhammer

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