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sweetcyberangel · 2 months

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Inhale, Exhale

Stoner!Ellie Williams x Reader Synopsis: It's your first time smoking, luckily you have a super hot stoner girlfriend to guide you tags/Warnings: Established relationship, modern/college au, weed usage, Dom!Ellie (casually), might be slightly inaccurate, oopsies

The week had been brutal, a relentless onslaught of exams and assessments left you mere moments away from a breakdown. Each word you read is in one ear, out the other. Entirely incomprehensible. Your head hurts, your eyes hurt and your motivation is dwindling. Ah, the joys of college…

A knock on your dorm room door jolts you out of the complete disarray inside your head, which would've been a relief if the sound didn't reverberate around your skull. Okay, maybe it was time for a break.

You stand on legs that are weak from hours of sitting idly at your cramped desk. Reaching for the door handle, you swear you could almost start crying at the sight of your girlfriend. How did you get so lucky.

“I texted earlier to let you know I was coming but you never replied…” She starts as she squeezes past you, walking into your dorm room as if it was her second home (which - to be fair - it absolutely is). Her eyes scan the textbooks scattered on your desk as you sit on the edge of your bed. “"You okay?" she inquires softly at your silence, her eyebrows knitting together in worry. With a weary groan, you slump back onto your bed, “I never want to look at another textbook again”. Ellie chuckles affectionately, sitting next to you on the bed.

“How about you go shower and get comfy for me angel, I’ll pack all this shit up and we can just relax for a bit. You look all tense" "But ellie my exa-" "Your exams will go great. Just for tonight, kay? Even just for a few hours” Her tone is firm and reassuring. You sigh with contemplation. I mean, she’s right. Your body is tense, your head is pounding, and you feel as if any more information might just cause your brain to shut down entirely. So you nod, pick out some pyjamas and make your way to the bathrooms. The idea of a warm shower, fresh clothes and the comfort of your nightly skincare routine is already easing all the built up pressure.

—------------------------------------

When you return to your dorm room feeling clean (and like you can actually think again) Ellie is sitting on your bed, textbooks packed away, her music playing softly from your speaker and a rolled blunt sitting between her fingers. She smiles at you softly when you step inside, patting the bed next to her “c’mere”.

You settle beside her, then flop over into her lap, head resting on her thighs. You turn over to look up at her, admiring the way she tilts her head back to exhale the earthy smoke away from you. She looks ethereal.

“Mmm… Ellie?”

“Yeah, baby?” she responds, her tone gentle and attentive.

“Do you think I could… try?” you ask tentatively, feeling a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling inside you.

She seems momentarily surprised, before a soft laugh escapes her lips. “This?” she clarifies, holding the blunt out to you. You nod your head timidly. She knows you've never smoked before, it’s not that you think it's bad or are uncomfortable by it, you’ve just always been a little nervous about it.

Her auburn hair falls in front of her face as she looks down at you, hand caressing the supple skin of your cheeks, “Alright, sit up f’ me baby”

You sit on your knees, legs tucked neatly beneath you, watching as she takes another hit of the joint before moving all of her attention to you.

“You’re sure you wanna do this?” She checks, “Yeah, ‘m sure,” you reassure with a soft smile. You’d mentioned wanting to smoke with Ellie for a while now, and now is a better time than any, right?

“Open,” She taps your lips softly with her thumb and you part them as she places the edge of the blunt between them, “breathe in nice and slowly for me, bring the smoke into your mouth”. You take a steady breath in. You wonder if it's the first time you've taken a proper moment to breathe all day. It is. The warm smoke fills your mouth, swirling around your senses, and you hold it there for a beat before Ellie directs you again. “Good, breathe it into your lungs ‘nd then breathe it out, nice and slow”.

The smoke fills your lungs and for a moment you think you are going to cough, but manage to slowly breathe it out, watching as the smoke swirls around your small dorm room. You look back over at Ellie to see her watching you, eyes starting to glaze over and all filled with endearment.

She brings the blunt back to her own lips, inhaling deeply before her hand gently grasps your jaw. Instinctively, you part your lips, anticipation tingling through you as she exhales the smoke between you. "Breathe in," she softly commands, her lips hovering close to yours, her touch sending shivers down your spine. As her lips meet yours, she places gentle hands on the sides of your face. You can feel yourself relaxing, body easing up and thoughts becoming quieter, more gentle, more sluggish. You let her take the lead, it's soft and intimate.

As she pulls away, she shifts to lay on her back against your soft comforter, her arms opening invitingly to you. You crawl over, resting your head against her chest, finding solace in the tired ache permeating your bones. Ellie offers you another puff of the blunt and you gladly take it, letting the comforting scent soothe your exhausted mind. Ellie takes a last hit before ashing it out, rubbing your back with one arm while the other rests beneath her head.

“Get some sleep, okay?” she hums softly. Between your dazed mind, the gentle rhythm of your girlfriend's hands running up and down your spine, and the combined scent of her and the pot enveloping your senses, you don’t think you'd be able to stay awake even if you tried.

#ellie x fem reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #tlou ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader

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orikiys · 10 months

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✿ ✿ 〞voicemails as he tries to erase you

✰ pairings: ex bf!hyunjin x gn!reader

✰ genre: angst, romance, nostalgia (?), some humor as well

✰ warnings: cursing, heavy angst, low-key toxic ex hyunjin who wants you back and can’t move on

✰ word count: 1.3k + words

one 𖨂

hey. . . it’s been a really long time. how have you been? if you asked me that, i’d reply with a ‘fine’ , but the truth is i’m not fine, love. ever since– ever since you walked out of our shared apartment, which is no longer ours, i felt my chest ache. at that time i didn’t know why. i had no fucking clue. and god, i was so clueless that i almost lost myself in the process too. there were times when i felt like making up excuses just to get to see you or visiting your favourite cafes in hopes you would be there too. . . but you weren’t. it’s almost as if you stopped doing everything that was connected to me. stopped hanging out at our usual beach, stopped buying boba teas, started hating red velvet pastries and you even tore our couple shirt babe. i know i shouldn’t be calling you that, but i can’t help it. what hurts the most is that you’re trying to erase me, erase our memories and attempting to move on. while i, like the loser i am, is still stuck in the past. and i hate it so damn much.

two 𖨂

i see you in the sea everytime i’m at the beach. but it’s not us, instead now it’s ‘you’ and ‘me’. and at times, i really do wonder if you think of it too. think of the little beats of the heart that skipped just because of a single touch, or maybe the eye contacts that lingered a little too long. or perhaps the hugs and kisses, all too warm and making my brains go dizzy. do you think of it too? do you? and perhaps, it shouldn’t have ended this way. when i was the one who told you to leave, but here i am, begging you to come back. i was the one who left you but i still can’t move on, yet you look so happy, basking and glowing under the sun. tell me love, do you not remember it? remember us? our love is so saint-like and pure– that it hurts me to think how far we’ve come. but here you are, knitted into my soul like we are one thread. a thread that is now dangling off, and the harder i try to put it back, the farther it gets. is this how you want us to be now? so fragile? and just so desperate?

three 𖨂

i know you listen to these. i know you do. yet i can’t seem to figure out what’s holding you back. is it the guy from literature? or is your friends warning you to stay away from me? or perhaps the reason of our breakup? i can’t tell anymore. i really can’t. you mask yourself way too well, darling. but stop pretending. stop pretending that whenever i pass by, i can feel your hands tremble, i can feel your face go pale and i can see it in your eyes, how you hold yourself back from running to me. and i’m not saying it that you’re desperate, but it’s me who is the desperate one. i have studied the moles on the back of your neck, the blisters on your feet from practising way too much and even your lips– that now only say ‘goodbye’. why?

four 𖨂

i tried to stop loving you, so i built walls around my heart. and found other smiles to stare at– but the way you caved yourself in my veins makes it hard. we were so happy together. and i wish i could turn back time just so it could take us back to the past where it all ended. and as quickly as a flower withers, you did too, away from me. you told me how there’s no place for someone like me in your heart. how i irritate you the moment you see my face. and mostly, how much you hated my guts. how much you hated me. it hurts love. why do this to me? why must i be treated this way for what i did? though it was knowingly, i regret it. and i said sorry, a million times. with sincerity and love. just how many months should i knock at your door for that one day when you finally open it? how many sleepless nights do i have to spend, hugging your plushie thinking it was you? just how many more months do i have to wait till you come to tie my hair? answer me, darling. just once.

five 𖨂

must you do this on my birthday? humiliating me in front of my friends when i tried to invite you to my party? must you always have that expression of disgust whenever you see me? why can’t you let it go? if not, come back and erase my memories. erase yourself. erase the times we spent together, talking about our futures and what not. i’ll leave you, if you can do that. i thought my birthday would be a 360 for you. that you’d wish me just once and though as strangers i hoped you really did. was it really that hard to say those two words? that hard to make me happy again? i can’t believe you. i can’t believe how much different you’ve become. you’ve. . . changed. and i tried too as well. but it was hard when your smiling face kept popping everywhere i went. it’s embedded in my heart. and i can’t seem to get it out no matter how hard i try. and it hurts a lot. why can’t you give me one last chance? i promise i won’t fuck it up. one last chance, just think of it, please?

six 𖨂

you refuse to answer me. you refuse to see me. you refuse to love me back again. and now i’m starting to question whether i’m unlovable or not. i see it though. the pity looks thrown towards me as i walk towards you. or the weird stares when i try to touch you. they don’t know me as you know me, darling. they don’t know just how deeply i love you. they don’t know any of that. but you know. you always talked to me for hours when i felt low. you hugged me when the world kept spinning me around. you wrote poetries for me! now look at the irony. my collection of your paintings just keeps increasing, and now i sound like a poet as well. what else am i going to unveil because of you?

seven 𖨂

i’m staying at jisung’s tonight. i know how inconvenient that must be for him, yet he welcomes me with open arms. he treats me carefully, afraid to crack the wrong jokes or switch on the drama because he knows i’ll lose it the second i see any similarity. is this what a heartbreak feels like? if yes, i hope i never fall in love again. i hate it. love is a drug. it’s a drug once consumed you can never stop. the need keeps increasing till you lose your mind. and it’s you that i need. come back to me before i lose myself again. come, heal me, just like you always wanted to. except it’s my heart this time. can you do it, my doctor? can you? they say if you kiss a wound it will heal. but i don’t think you can kiss my heart. not anymore.

taglist: @taeriffic 🫧 @hello-2-u-from-me 🫧@theblackrose247

#ॱଳ͘#kflixnet #stray kids #stray kids reactions #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #hyunjin x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #skz angst #skz x reader #skz x gn reader #skz imagines

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drconstellation · 6 months

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The Assistant Book Seller

Edit 1 Dec 2023 - added missing information on the "ribbon pattern."

Edit: 3 Dec 2023 - correct information about middle pattern from creator

GABRIEL: Greetings! I'm Jim! It's short for James, but I don't need to keep telling everyone that. I'm an assistant book seller.

I'm sorry. Before I do anything else, I need to apologize for something I need to write further in. I didn't plan to write it, I just kind of bumped into it and, well, I can't ignore it. So...sorry. It's said. Forgive me for what needs to be done.

Although he arrived with nothing but a cardboard box and Rodney the Stunt Fly, Aziraphale made sure Jim was clothed in appropriate raiment while under his protection. We'll forgive him that he took a step back about, oh, fifty years or so to the 1970's, as Jim's overall look is a nod to the famous old sitcom "Open All Hours." So if he looks a little bit out of place, or, a little bit familiar, even, that's why.

While we are used to seeing angels in overcoats, it's Jim's vest that is the particular feature here. But I will take a moment to comment on the overcoat - not just the colour but its lapels. Aziraphale has obviously given him a colour with an earthly connection and one that indicate that he has bought Jim under his protection, but the lapels look quite neutral, with one up and one down. (Muriel is the same in their Inspector uniform, btw) This is the first indication they are between two things at the moment.

Onto the vest.

There is so, so much work and thought put into this vest! It was a one-off commission for the show, and the creator, Sandy Higgins, has said she is not allowed to give away the final design pattern. I have tried to contact her, and I'm waiting for a reply, so in the mean time I thought I would ask my keen knitter of a sister-in-law about one of the patterns I'm not sure about. "Well, that's Fair Isle knitting," she said, but she knew nothing about the individual line pattern I was interested in. Hmm, I kind of know that already, its in the notes that are guiding me for this meta, but hey, why not do a broader search and see what comes up?

So once I got back home I did. "Fair Isle knitting patterns" hmm...Wikipedia page for starters...what on *earth* is that at the bottom of the page...? YOU ARE. FRIKKING. KIDDING ME!!!!!!!

"See also: Gumbys"

oh ffs

I am so sorry that needs must make me mention Monty Python yet again, but here we are. And we must mention them, because this link is just too...unbelievably, deliciously good.

If you aren't familiar with the Monty Python catalogue, and don't recognize the mention of Gumbys, they were a set of characters that dressed and spoke in a certain way but the main points to take away were they wore woolen vests in the Fair Isle knitted style and their catch-phrase was - wait for it - "My brain hurts!"

I think we've heard that somewhere before?

CROWLEY: When you first arrived, you said you were here because they were planning to do 'Something Terrible' to you. So you remembered it then. Remember it now. GABRIEL: It hurts to remember. My head isn't built for that.

Right. Now we've got that out of the way...back to the serious stuff.

The colours used in the vest are not your typical angel colours. There is a base of angelic off-white and there are some bits of purple for his royalty around the shoulder area - sometimes you need to look carefully for it. Otherwise it is dominated by vintage shades of red and green. Well. Who's an agent of change driven by love, then?

The horizontal stripe pattern is partly to remind us of the classic biblical robes with stripes that ran along them, much like the style of Crowley's black and red robe in the Job minisode, but is also part of the traditional Fair Isles pattern work. And each row only has two colours, but up around the shoulder area we do see purple start to sneak in as a third colour.

On to the incorporated symbols! I'm going to go from bottom to top.

On the lowest two we feature Crowley and Aziraphale. We have Crowley's demon satyr tail from the Good Omens logo on the lowest stripe - the double-headed arrow.

The next stripe is Aziraphale, with a variation of the classic OXO pattern ("hugs and kisses.") The X is meant to represent his angel wings, and the O is modified to mimic the "o" with a halo in the Good Omens logo. I've highlighted all three in the image on the right.

The third row up is a Sumerian Star pattern that represents one of the flowers associated with Gabriel, the lily. They are supposed to represent the purity of Mary, mother of Jesus, as he had one in his hand when he visited her during the Annunciation.

The row above that is what I believe to be a Byzantium pattern, and is included to show "an Angel's ability to be timeless."

The next three rows are still under a bit of a question mark as I write this. I plan to come back and edit it in if I find the answer.

The bottom of the three is the Duke of Buccleuch pattern, "to celebrate the long and necessary contribution that the cottage industry of hand knitted items."

The middle one - ? (perhaps you, the reader, know? It looks like a spiralling ribbon if I stand back, but that isn't sparking any connections, either.)

Edit: @noneorother tells me in a reblog (below) that this pattern represents the shoelace from the magic incantation Aziraphale uses "Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace." So it is ribbon-like! This then points to the Second Coming, as it the shoelace references the end of the book, and the last paragraph of the book references Yeats poem "The Second Coming" as well as the novel 1984. To me it is then also telling us there is a cycle occurring, or a cycle that needs to be renewed. This fits in with some other clues other meta-writers have been picking up.

Edit 2: Turns out none of that was correct - I heard back from the creator herself and it's actually the double-ended satyr tail pattern again! It just seems to make a bit of an illusion of a ribbon or shoelace.

The pattern below is a modified OXO pattern.

The top one looks like two rams horns facing each other. A hollowed out rams horn can be used as a trumpet, and is known as a shofar in Jewish religion. Gabriel was traditionally known to carry a trumpet.

The ancient meander pattern would be recognized by most people, included as another classic timeless pattern found all over the world. For some it symbolizes eternity and endless flow.

The wheels here appear to be Michael's ophanim wheels, that would have eyes around the rims.

The hourglass is to remind us that time is running out. Memento mori - "Remember that you die." It is a major theme in both series.

Right up high, just before we lose the rest of the vest inside the overcoat, we get a glimpse of a large diamond-shaped icon. I wonder if this is another stylized set of angel wings, like we saw in the Job minisode on Aziraphale's golden collar.

To finish off the outfit, he is wearing dark gray trousers with sneakers! I'm sure that's so he could keep sneaking up on Aziraphale in the shop, haha. His shirt seems a little too large for him and the tie is knotted too high and is not settled along his centerline. It's all at odds with his previous neat and sharp appearance as Supreme Archangel Gabriel.

I'd like to say a big thank you to @aduckwithears for helping me with information on the vest and finding the creator's other social media sites. You can see their two posts about it here and here.

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jarofstyles · 8 months

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FICTOBER DAY 6- Do You Believe in Soulmates?

Hello and welcome to day 6 of fictober. I hope you enjoy a little semi spooky blurb from us...

FICTOBER Prompt list and masterlist

Patreon

WC-1.2k

Warnings- wolves

-----

“Do you believe in soulmates?” The words floated on the warm night air to Y/N’s ears. She laid beside him on the blanket, looking up stars. It was the third night in a row that they’d continued their stargazing, Harry arriving to her home and promising to have her back safe and sound to her roommate before driving over to the lookout point over the lake.

Y/N was new to town, looking for a new beginning, and Harry had found her on her worst day. Only 2 months in, she had been burnt out. Tirelessly writing her book at night and working at the cafe during the day for just enough for her rent, bills and some food here and there. If she didn’t get her free meals at the cafe, she knew she would be in an even worse spot- but she had left a place that had been dulling her life, keeping her tied and rooted with no place to grow. Leaving had been the best option.

The lake town was tucked into the foothills of the mountains, A nice summer tourist population and a small, tight knit group of locals she was trying to find her place in. The weave was strong and the things seemed to be established, so she was trying to find a nice spot in between to settle- but her hanging out with Harry had made some waves. His family was a long time legacy, basically built the town up. He wasn’t much of a socializing type besides his small, even tighter group of friends, so when he was seen walking around with the new girl in town? It had spread like wildfire. It never ceased to amaze her how fast small towns spread gossip to the trees to set the rumor mill ablaze.

She had been informed that Harry didn’t date around, he didn’t sleep around despite people being more than obvious in their interest. A coworker had divulged that she knew his family was apparently part of some sort of exclusive group with a share of other families in town and the surrounding era. It was all hush hush, but Y/N knew that it wasn’t her business. If Harry had his secrets, it was okay. She did too.

Like how meeting him had given her the inspiration on what to model her male character on in her book.

“I’m a romance novel author, Harry.” She rolled her head to the side. “Of course I do. It’s the best trope there is.” She laughed, looking back up at the stars. Sometimes his stare was a bit intense and made her squirmy. He always seemed to be looking. Somehow, she didn’t mind.

“What do you like about it?” He asked, turning over on his side a bit as she continued looking up.

“Theres a lot. I love the idea of unconditional love, but I know that isn’t realistic. So I think I like the thought that someone is meant for me. That there isn’t something wrong with me for always feeling like something is missing in my partners thusfar. I love that whole thing. Feeling like you were made for someone, that they’ll just get you and how you feel… It’s always been something I wished was something for me. But I hope one day I can meet mine.” Her sigh was dreamy, smiling at the sky as Harry continued staring at her.

“Maybe you already have.” His voice was calm, just as it normally was, his eyes on her expression as he continued. “Well.. What if being with them required sacrifices? If life wouldn’t be different?” His words were ominous but Y/N was a bit oblivious. She always had been, full of wonder and stuck in her own brain. His question was one that had her mind whirling around, colorful thoughts throwing themselves at the walls until one stuck.

“I mean, every good love story requires sacrifice. It’s part of every single good storyline, every memorable romance.” She laughed, nudging his foot with her own. “And I suppose life is never the same after meeting anyone but especially a soul mate. Someone the stars bound to you. The cosmos and the moon, powerful things they are.” She didn’t know just how correct that was. “I’d still want to be with them, yeah. Any relationship takes work and adjustments. I think it would be more than worth it for a soul mate-”

Y/N gasped as she was interrupted by the howl of wolves off in the forest. Shivers hit her body, chills hitting her skin as the sound reverbed off the trees, the full moon in the sky seeming doubly as bright. There were trees on either side of them and her nerves shot into her stomach. It sounded so close. Sitting up, her widened eyes met Harry’s. His body hadn’t moved, hadn’t even stiffened. Oddly, she thought he saw him relax at it. “Uh- should we go? That sounded really close, and I’m no expert but that’s probably not good.” Her nervous hand wringing was a distraction, Harry gently pulling one of them from her own grasp, urging her back down.

“I’m not afraid. It’s okay. The wolves are misjudged. They don’t want to hurt humans.” He spoke confidently. “The humans are the ones attacking first. It’s probably different in other places but here, we respect the wolves and they leave us be.” His words were spoken as if he knew this for a fact. Y/N oddly believed him, despite knowing it was going against all logic she had.

“Oh, alright. I always thought wolves were beautiful but I try and keep a respectable distance. You know?” She tucked a bit of hair behind her ear, sitting back in her original spot as she tried to calm her heart down. The howling was moving further away, and Harry’s calmness was contagious.

“Yes. You’re one of the smart ones. In this town, the relationship with the wildlife is different. We all respect the creatures and nature’s course.”

“Oh!” Y/N gasped. “So that’s part of why there was a questionnaire everyone filled out while filing their documents at town hall, then. Wanting to make sure people knew that. Smart. I don’t know why people wouldn’t accept that, though. It should be like that everywhere.” Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “And do you like them, then? The wolves?”

She didn’t think it was that funny, but the smile that grew on his face and the little burst of laughter made her own smile tilt up the corner of her mouth. The man’s dimples were on display, teeth pearly white and crinkles by his eyes. Harry was attractive- anyone could see that- but to see him light up like that because of something she said? She felt his smile deep in her core. “Well…” He laughed through another howl. “You could say that.”

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pangolin-404 · 1 year

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for ship bingo: gabv1el (i dont know if i got their ship name right. oops)

(x) GAY PEOPLE COMING RIGHT UP

THEY'RE SO. INTERESTING. they want to kill each other so bad but also they are just about the only people who can survive each other. nobody else (aside from V2 Once) has escaped V1 alive and few have walked away from Gabriel unscathed

In canon, I feel like romantic feelings on Gabriel's side is Implied, or at least it's intentionally open for things to be read that way, but V1 is a blank slate which makes sense but man they did NOT have to write Gabriel so Like That. this is not a bad thing ! AND they're fated for one to destroy the other (probably V1 killing Gabriel before his fading light can kill him). can't wait for act 3 when they fistfight in a denny's parking lot

I feel like if they Were together their braincells would cancel out. mostly on V1's part. It is a war machine, it's not built for things like caring for people!! It was never coded with intention to feel anything, let alone romantic love! no idea what it's doing! trial and error! and while Gabriel is very familiar with close bonds and platonic relationships he does Not know how to handle whatever the hell V1 is doing. it's scuttling over him like a rat, it's leaving dead husks at his feet as gifts, it thinks using him for target practice is fun bonding, it's asleep on his legs and now he can't move or it'll wake up, and he's fighting for his life trying to understand its beeping and body language. in a world where gabriel would not collapse in on himself like a dying star I think they would be very closely knit. would care very much for each other

I half-picked "only exists in my head" because I feel I have a very specific view of V1 and if I ever see it super ""out of character"" from the version in my brain I go AGH!! and it's the same w/ Gabriel at times. I'm opening and closing ao3 like the fridge at 3am looking for more fics

and "no way this will end well" less from a relationship standpoint and more from a canon standpoint, because they're both going to die one way or another. canon Gabriel I think would go out with more unspoken baggage about his feelings to V1. there's something sad about that, about Gabriel maybe developing an affection for it, but dying before it can grow or he can confront those feelings. I don't think any of that would be stated but! imagine. imagine

thematically... they are thematically delicious yes.. gabriel driven to revolt by a creature of steel, driven by the very thing he views as nothing, mere object. v1 is a silent protagonist while I enjoy/prefer that this means lots of the juicy bits is from gabriel having a life crisis after getting the christianity beaten out of him twice by a roomba with a knife strapped to it

there are so many ways their relationship can be read!! they're fun to think about. rotating them in my brain

#ultrakill #gabv1el #ultrakill gabriel #v1 #thoughts #asks #ask game #ultrakill posting #🥚#<- thats your mutual tag #youve unleashed something in me (wall of text about the sillies)

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definitelynotshouting · 7 months

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Hiiiii. I just spent the last 2 days reading all of the hunger au posts on you master list doc ( which let me tell you, it's amazing!!! It's so organized and pretty and I love it!!!) And my brain wants more lore and world building cause it's such a cool concept!!!!! I don't feel like I have any specific questions, just hungry for more rambles if you have any :D (if you have anything in watcher culture that might be cool to read :))

Omg hello!!! Im so glad you like the masterlist doc :D big big fan of organization, makes the autism go brrrrrrr for me. If i see a chance to organize i will take it in a heartbeat [makes unblinking eye contact at my personal discord fic archive]

Ooooh man lets see... i feel like theres so much i could say about Watchers, but the biggest thing for me is that they're really community oriented!!!! Almost obsessively so-- because of their history with Seekers, Watcher colonies are extremely tight-knit, and have a heavy focus on interdependence. For Watchers raised in Watcher culture, being alone is synonymous with certain death. This is why the Watchers in Grian's colony chased him when he made his eventual escape (something i also havent touched on just quite yet lol)!!!

I want to do a bit more worldbuilding for Watcher colonies, but typically their social structure is built on the decisions of a select group of elders within each colony. Caring for larval hosts and juveniles is communal, and they're protected very intensely since they tend to have such a high mortality rate.

That's about all i can think of for now, there's a lot more i want to get into about their culture but i want to spend some time noodling on it more before i add anything else :] i hope this satisfies the itch a little bit, thanks for sending this ask!!! :D

#shouting speaks #asks #hunger au #if you want to read more stuff that i might not have added to the doc (aka stuff that isnt vitally important to know)#u can browse the hunger au tag as a whole!!! :] theres TONS of material in there #very flattered you like the worldbuilding for this fic so much :DDD #txt

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creampill · 2 years

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could i get uhhhhhh sova with a shapeshifter reader who, on their first meeting, thinks “oh no he’s hot” and accidentally shifts into him

THIS!!!!!!!! OHHHH JACK YOUR BRAIN IS STUPENDOUS !!! sorry i named the reader oops, JUST THEIR AGENT NAME !!!!!!!!!! not their normal name. i could not help myself.

Sova/Reader - Mirror

You were probably not the first person in the Protocol to lose control of your abilities.

Actually, you could bet a large sum of money on the fact and win, because there is indisputable records of the agents before you causing havoc that they did not mean to wreak, so many in fact that it was the sole reason why they were in the protocol in the first place.

Your story was similar. Not in the absolute disaster, wiping-out-a-city-block, thousands of deaths way; in the 'oh lord this is horribly embarrassing, nobody speak of this again' way.

It was your first formal day in the VALORANT Protocol, and you were sat in their 'living room' as their leader, Brimstone, drilled you on what was expected of you as an agent.

Now, 'living room' is in quotes for a reason.The room was modern, all sharp angles and light greys, and from a glance it was no more a home than an office building. But your wandering eyes caught the little details that gave it away as a community space: the pile of slippers by the door, the scattered coffee mugs, the knitted blanket tossed over the very couch you were sat on; it felt like a home.

That comforted you. Maybe, this wouldn't be so bad after all.

And then, you heard footsteps from behind you, and Brimstone looked up from his papers and smiled.

"Oh, Sova! You haven't met our newest agent yet! This is-"

Mid sentence, you turned to face Sova.

And he was gorgeous.

Was it odd to describe a man as gorgeous? Well, if there ever were to be a gorgeous man, it'd be him. His eyes were the prettiest blue, one's glow indicating it as an implant (though the scar above that eye could've clued you into that) and his hair looked soft as silk and haloed his jaw in a way that looked criminally good.

He was strong-looking, too, broad with toned arms that you could see through his shirt and something about his expression was just so captivating, and before you knew it this overwhelming feeling of wanting to never stop looking at this man triggered that chain reaction built into you, and you shapeshifted.

And then Sova looked to you, watching you change into him right before his very eyes, and he stepped back-

"-Mirror." Brimstone finished.

You took a second to realize what you'd done.

"O-Oh my god, I'm sorry!" You spluttered in his voice, pressing your hands to your face, "I didn't mean too, I promise, I just panicked."

"It's alright." He replied. His accent was nice, now that you could hear it past the beating of your own heart. "You're a shapeshifter, correct?"

You took deep breaths, feeling yourself calm down and slowly unwinding the coil that was keeping you in this form, "yeah, I, uh, promise I can control myself."

Sova smiled, and by god, you were almost back at square one, "it's an interesting ability."

You giggled, finally back in your own skin, and he extended his hand towards you, "Mirror, right? I'm Sova."

With a wobbly smile, you shake his hand.

God, his hand is warm. Calloused, too, but in that nice way that makes you want to trace them. He's got big hands. Wow. Wow, he's cute.

"...Mirror?"

"W-What?" You spluttered, suddenly realizing the voice coming out of you wasn't your own once again, and the hand holding his was the same size with all the same callouses.

"Oh."

God damn it.

#sova x reader #valorant sova #valorant #sova #oHDGHD #i am so normal about him #(lies)#valorant x reader #asks #THIS IS JUST 500 WORDS OF ME SIMPING FOR THIS GORGEOUS RUSSIAN MAN #im mentally ill :))

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omniblades-and-stars · 2 months

Note

15. Trembling hands

🖤🖤🖤

Okay, I had a lot of feelings today and I managed to twist them into something I think. Also I got a little carried away.

Also here's this song that put me in my feelings this afternoon:

Her Hands Were Shaking

Her hands were shaking.

Well, all of her was shaking, trembling. Somewhere in the utter dark, halfway off the mortal coil, she laid beneath the rubble, dying very slowly. She drifted in and out of consciousness, the moments she was awake were hardly lucid, visited as she was by hallucinations in the dark. But then the wreckage started to move, and the shot of adrenaline that sent through her heart set all of her muscles on fire.

It wasn't until familiar, armored hands wrapped around her and hoisted her out of the rubble and broken glass that she'd resigned herself to becoming a part of for what little remained of her life that she believed what was happening. It seemed impossible. But the one person more stubborn than she was found and dragged her carcass out of the rubble.

She hated him for it then. Jane tried to tell him to fuck off and let the dead get some goddamn rest. She'd done what she had been brought back to do, was it so much to ask that she get a permanent vacation?

But all that came out was a pitiful whimper, a cry of pain and desolation. She lost consciousness again before she could curse at him and whoever else refused to just let her go in peace.

Her hands were shaking.

Panting, the world came into focus slowly, machines screamed and beeped. Hands were on her, panicked voices spoke words she couldn't understand yet. Jane had a creeping sense of dèjá vu, like she'd done exactly this before, but the memory was too far away for her to really understand.

Raw fear built and she tried to sit up, she needed to leave. She didn't know where she was, she didn't even know who she was but she knew everything was wrong.

A different hand squeezed hers. “Go back to sleep, Shepard,” he broke through the panic in the room and in her brain. The world grew bleary and unfocused again, and she forgot it even happened.

When she woke up again, still connected to so many machines the electric buzzing from the power supplies threatened to overwhelm her, he was still there. Sitting in a shitty foldout chair in what little room there was in between all of the medical equipment. Shepard groaned, “I must be in hell if I'm in a hospital and you're here.” She tried to smile but every part of her felt like it was on fire, a pained grimace curled at her lips instead.

He rolled his eyes, leaning forward with one arm propped on his knee, “Hell'd be more entertaining. Think this must be goddamn purgatory. Watching you take a weeks-long nap was about to bore me to tears, some of us have work to do, you know?”

“What are you doing here, Zaeed?” Her voice was changed, raspy, dry, and weakened. She felt small, listless. Shifting her head took a gargantuan effort, like a newborn baby unable to hold up its own head.

“Someone had to keep the vultures and boot-lickers away,” he said quietly and looked down at his feet.

Shepard closed her eyes. “Sure,” she said just before drifting off to sleep again.

Her hands trembled, covered in pine needles and bile, as she tried to push herself back up. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she wretched again. She didn't know where she was. Jane had been running towards the beam desperate to end the invasion, when she'd tripped and fell, hitting her head. There were trees all around her now. Blood was in her eyes.

Intentional footsteps snapped twigs, and crunched through dried leaves. “Coming up behind you, Janey,” he warned her just above a whisper. He crouched next to her, examining her face without touching her, concern knitted in his brow. “Do you know where you are?”

“No,” she cried pitifully. Her hand slipped out from under her weight, his were there to catch her before she ate dirt again.

Zaeed wiped the grime off on his pants before brushing hair off of her face so he could look at the cut above her eye. “Middle of nowhere, West Virginia so you can get some peace. Reapers are dead, you fucking dropped them out of the sky.”

Her head hurt so bad, but after a few quiet minutes of trying to pace her breathing with his, she was able to put the pieces back together. It had been months since the hospital. They'd never even really talked about whatever … this was, but in the aftermath of the near end of the world, they hadn't been able to part ways. “From you, that sounds like hero worship,” she said trying to crack a joke. She couldn't mask the trembling in her voice, the anxiety in wide, panicked eyes.

“If I wanted to kiss your ass, Shepard, I'd just pucker up and do it,” he shook his head and helped her up. “Let's get you cleaned up, Jane. I've seen enough of your blood to last a lifetime.”

Her hands were shaking, but they found their home held in ones that were steady.

#daisy screaming into the void #this is my ask game tag now #whatever i'm allowed to have post destroy ending feelings about these guys

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notmuchtoconceal · 1 year

Text

- welcome to a bruxaria – a show that may or may not still be the bruxcast. on my program today, i have the effervescent lil tall sip of fizz, cpt. luxor drottin ready to seranade us with some fine poppy foam bubbles i know you'll be eager to trickle right down your shirt fronts!

- what up, brother brux. you got a special girl in your life yet, bro?

- she's out there, mate! might be listenin in right now for all we know!

- bro, what i know is you're gonna make the luckiest lady alive the lady who makes you the luckiest man alive. you're so special, brother brux. you deserve a special girl to be with, all the rest of your days ~ !

- cpt. drottin, i have to ask – you a great dane or just a standard swede?

- deffo not enough finns to make a whole fish, bro.

- an avalanche every iceman cometh, i am indeed the jelliest of donuts!

(STICK IT IN A PUSS O/o STICK IN A PUSS o/O YOU LOVE TO CUP THE VULVAE /O CUP THE VULVAE /o CUP THE VULVAE O/O )

- bro, you should soundproof cpt. hlaford when you're recording, otherwise stick em someplace soundproof, bro. holy hell – what are you even spending 9/10ths of our total broadcast budget on if you can't account for basic quality of life improvements?

- mate, we hadn't always been a big show. you're a young up-and-comer. you weren't with us in the early seasons. i started out as a pirate channel in a janitorial closet and did every show to the hammer beat of wally deadliftin in nothing but a big sweaty ass-stained lycra singlet and cheese scented wool socks, the singlet himself (itself -- weren't once human!) almost obscenely padded out by a fat heavy knit cotton tee which'd accrued mothscales on pine like sycamore sap; sweatmarks foamroasted in tree rings so much i thought he were wearin some sorta throwback arctic camo -- sometimes just strippin outta his drenched as shit singlet, tossin his goofy coconut tropical scented pineapple printed dick briefs at me head. full on fuckin sloshin me like urinal piss foam in a mug i served outta the tap at me own bar, and wally fukin drank it down, asked for another and another -- by the end, i was dehydrated, lyin on my side jitterin and he just bleched and said he was goin out fer a beer /// live on air, his stinky fuckin briefs hittin me head, and it's so sweet and anointed and heedy like a fuckin pina cooldada it takes awhile to taste the burn -- joshua openly fornicatin christos, i bet this man's cock is delicious! i just wanna stare the seat of his pants everyday the rest of my life and cringe thinkin about how good it'll taste, but i'll never ask, cause i'm such a shy and delicate flower -- i had to hear it during recording, during editing, on the air. it's part of my creative process now. there just is no motive to create without hearin wally scream through a wall. punch through the wall. chase me around the room. hollerin after me to gimme back his soul. destroyin all my equipment, but not before it can all be backed up to the satellite, way out in space, where wally's domain can not yet penetrate into the upper atmospheres ~0~ ! tell you the truth, i can't coax him into helpin me do it unpaid, so i just sort loike – y'know. built my sets around him. sometimes cut off pathways in advance, to keep him boxed in, change the patterns of nature to make him predictable, just sorta like – you know. follow him and record so inspiration can strike the second he lets his guard down and thinks he's free to be himself, but i'm just over here bein a nosy lil anthropologist lady who wants to record the sound of him gettin it on so i can once again feel a butterly tinglin in my nowhere places when the currents of life are alive and fruitful like a smoothie churning egg beater my brain from which i will fry the heartiest crepes?

- bro, to be completely honest – i have so many questions, i don't even know where to start, so um – i won't unless you give me a few moments to collect myself, which i doubt you will?

- mate no, by all means. this is a show where two people talk. a talk show. i have to show you talking. in all the hours we've been together, i'm sure i definitely have footage of you talking. go ahead. prove it to me now and to the viewers at home that you have participated in my talk show by talking to me – now. live on air. edited only for initial broadcast.

- um –

- cpt. drottin, you know, i think –

[vintage tye-dye throwback bumper

cpt. laika greenscreened onto a celluloid scarred void of rippling droplets !

collides with cpt. jacek in the edit ! ~ !

as typical,

laika's overblown toothy cheeked eyeball fucking is soggy sugarmush churned maple greens from steel-cuts =0

/ and jacek's face looks much like his dick --

much too large and swaggering to be this fuckin leaky. ]

( 0 _ ./. o. >,: <;\|-/~ ) o ( l .,.KlTYT>| |)

the bell rung.

the mirage accumulated by light particles into corpulence.

your brother didn't have a beard. he looked nothing at all like cpt. drottin.

- um, sir?

once again, your most favored hour fell upon you.

- your sarcasm is much appreciated, sir. you're the only one who has the balls to roast me both openly and to my face.

in full confidence, you would much rather have him raw.

- our most astute viewers know the true meanings of your words, as do i, though i scar my tongue most to know saltlick... just gonna pretend you wanna rut my tight and virtuously chaste hole and leave me drenched in my own tenderings and squirtings, sir. // your proclivities have been much established by those-in-the-know, but um… this'll look better for the men, you know? you're way more relatable when they're thinkin bout you like, um – like grabbin me,& suckin me without, um, tearin me in half and slurpin out each a my halves like shucks through the pelvic openings?

he has such a pretty throat. a shame you couldn't fit both your cocks in his mouth at once without tearing him apart down the prime meridian.

- sir, i know you're jockin me right now, big bro. you had two cocks, um – holy fuck, you'd have this cloven hoof bulge all gnarled like the limbs of a tree out which the earth had been hollowed, all fat roots and pike-thorn branches and, um – i'd wanna bury myself in your crotch even more?

you and everyone fuckin else, kid.

- my apologies, sir. after my recent sesh with cpt. schreibermachen, where secrets were re-divulged without the application of rope, i couldn't help but fall into the dreamy reveries he induces upon the mere mention of your, um – that shrill horrible beeping sound that would otherwise lance at my ears, but which by his gentle assurance now floods my nerves with the anticipation of the sweetness before a toothache?

he needed to surprise you. he wasn't doing anything new today.

- i could rip off my face and expose the maw of coiled intestines beneath, hissing out with the hellfire of your own failed accountings, lord of all which forgotten ~ slain always by the light of remembrance?

throw a tarp on him. worst he'd do is burn the place down.

–

cpt. schreibermachen glanced at cpt. drottin through the light.

he seemed for a moment, only anonymous. some face more flesh than memory, shed as the cicada shell of a mask.

- never have i met a man before as you, brother – as uncut and void of substance as myself.

cpt. drottin – let himself linger in the glance that he threw back.

he would stroll as he would linger, some eternal dusk whenever he took things slow. though his eyes were the hardball palming the mits of the leather. no fangs to see in the dusklight he crept.

corrosion softest in the creases. parts of him wore away, from wear and from moisture, and it seemed inevitable – that he should decay though still a young calf he was. to slaughter before spoil. no caustic splotches. no sheens of oilslick to stain. the wear of age which deep intuition had bent into seams varicose down the planes of his face – hairline fractures in the light which you would only see for only you looked, and met not a man's eyes before meeting the topography of his skin, as you interrogated your seawall against oblivion every morning.

you had seen comelier young men putresce on the vine. he was simply microdosed with his own fermentations, dispersed in beads along the sweet, you never tasted his punch, or into what frenzy it drew you.

- i will hear you, brother – for you are a virtuous man.

schreibermachen wore a brief of cotton, drottin a brief of aluminum – the translucence of the strands wrung spun and glow wormed in the rays of the evening sun refracted off the contouring of their meddle.

their cocks they pushed together, to careen shaft to shaft, in boy's adventure fables where they knew the heroics of their capacities for life and for daring, ascending and descending the ropes from which they hung and swung, sang and wrang, though sometimes it were vine or stone, and they could press only closer to cling in embrace, singing praises of valor, sputtering salival and bellowing, articulations upon articulations as you strove to meet his eyes ~

though your head craned back as his, slick inside the prison of his briefs, as you foamed through the cling of yours, your slick coating his, beading through the meshing to mingle with his as he stewed in your seepage and his stung your nicks, your cockheads so tight inside the dual collar of your phimotic ring, magenta and clamped upon by the joint limitations of your own crucified anatomies, as you were girdled in flesh as you were gartered in fly, as much two bodies trapped inside a mind as two minds trapped within a body, inches upon inches together /

your eightheads together, (4 + $ - CAP = ←) meeting his eyes with the mutual piteousness of your need, hovering at a threshold of ecstatic communion, condemned to never plummet off, but shoot deep roots into the rocks at the edge, to drop fruit to be carried far in the rivers below ~ your trunks entwined and your branches parting farther, the spongeal nodes of your need still aching and pressed together, no longer able even to rub, but merely to give and to merely pulse in the same heartbeat of your idiot-eyed surrender to himself and to you ~

breeches around your ankles in the public squares, your uniform jackets drenched with drool, foaming down your legs and into your breeches, briefs so soaked-through there is nothing left to-be unseen ~

and you are breathing in the spice of cpt. drottin's beard, longing to bite at it, but you can only hold him, wishing your faces were clamped even closer together, stuffed by the figure-eight of a dual-chambered inflatable gag, mouths clamped into the optical illusion of a vice-grip jaw to jaw so you could meet his eyes, only his eyes, and never be away from those pools into which you longed to drown, but would plunge into only to scale up – for the light you saw was but a reflection of your own.

… you are the true foundation, brother joseph;

drottin sang to ache ~

the exhaustion he could no longer prolong.

[ camera left rolling for six hours.

through the silky, slatten light

falling through embers of alleys;

cpt. hlaford bums a smoke off a derelict saint, to bless him with a bottle of spiced rum, and a pirate jig they will do.

a pirate jig they did do for you.]

( )

- cpt. drottin. my, my – aren't you looking lovely this fine day!

- thank you, cpt. haruspex. all the world is lovely that i look upon ~

- do you ever feel, like, er – there's somethin that needs to be done that you aren't doin, mate? sometimes i feel like i, um – sorta use people to distract myself from my real problems?

- bro, you shouldn't be talking to me if you have things you need to do.

- mate, no – it's not like that, it's more, like –

- you can't make excuses for yourself, cpt. haruspex. you're a brave and enduring soul who every day stands in the muck of primordial chaos and pushes the world heaved upon your shoulders back up into the warm and ever enduring horizon line of the sun. you know this to be the truest and most real you. you know the smog which composes the pollutant of your atmospheres arises only from maladaptive industry, and this is simply the cumulative effect of many tiny corrosions which have gone unchecked, for an arrest has come over your basest components.

... you are a live today, cpt. haruspex. the day is what you make of it, and you ought make a reality the many fine things you know yourself capable. will you take my hand? take your hand and make a pledge to me?

- mate, your hands i'd –

- don't be scared, brother brux. i'm just a man.

- …

- haha, hey lil slime trail.

- it's just, um – you're so warm and so soft – i don't want to lose myself in your eyes, cause i'm not as strong a swimmer as i should be, or maybe i am, bein the one to be born and all, it's just – i jump headfirst into choppy waters or else plunge into the arctic cold? cause i like to?

… guess it sorta feels like when i see the storm waves or the blackest depths, i gotta take the leap. if i don't, it's like – why didn't ya jump in? why didn't ya endanger your life? what's a self-preservation instinct done but hold ya back to the wall? think you're ever gonna flower in the ice?

/// sure are gettin oily, mate – way your hormones are chuggin away.

... what ya see's what ya get, and all ya see is the filth gushin out ya. you breakin up, or you breakin out? i seein static or caulked splotches? why i see a time-lapse of a rose on every face, so bright and clear i can anoint myself with my own imaginins?

... guess it sorta feels like the slicker i get, the more i can stay outta holds, but um – i don't always know if there're people grabbin at me while i'm under water? the pressure wraps around me. some hand, some arm. throats always grippin mine. don't always know what i need to do. if i'm strugglin to keep my head up, or strugglin to sink!

- cpt. haruspex, look upon this vast country. all but the sink is yours.

... cpt. haruspex, look upon this scarred and arid continent. all but the sink is yours. you have no basin in which to let stagnate still waters, and no gorge cut by the slow erosion of a coercive night's languid stream.

... you are face down now in a puddle of your own brewing, gasping for air when you could simply flip and meet the sky ~

falling to the sky

… some fisheye of waters diffused, icy only at the rims of space.

... sun warmed as the sands in which you lie, standing only to see truth.

... cpt. haruspex, you have dominion over every beast that you tame. you have dominion over every land you claim. you receive nothing of what you have asked, though you have accepted everything you have to gain. you assist and you are given, and you insist only so you do not receive. there are things which you are owed, and to make yourself known will bestow upon you the earnings of your actions! do not drown yourself in your own meager moisture – not when you have it within you to call upon those pressures of the sea, to cloak out the air ~ in the black tumult of the storm winds, you may blot out the sun – for an hour, for a day – to drench the droughted land in the downpour for which it is overdue!

- am i like heat, lux? risin like air, or bread in the oven? will i be fanned down or else carved and buttered? am i a tasty lil croissant – you wanna have me for breakfast, deem me the fittest meal, unworthy as i am?

- with my coffee, um – put some butter in there, too – make it shimmer as gold in the suns you obscure, for what dim light you have is surely radiant, though it skims only blackenings of my won-blotted eyes?

- and my waters? soakin the land as a fair maid well-aware i have tracked her far across the fields?

... will they sink deep, between the hard baked scales of the sun-drenched soil – the debris of what is dead and dry, to raise porous and fungal in the caps of some vast toadstool, as handsy as it is without hands?

- i will always remember you, cpt. haruspex. you are the bell which makes me remember. you are the ring which wakes me to dismember.

- i am the phone you never pick up. i am a connection you did not make. i am a spring shower dried up too soon, for the light of the sun oppresses me with its bounty :-- which is not the meager bounty of oijyamb. doomed though i am, doom always ain't gotta be such a gloomy thing!

- in the shade, the boulevard of every garden :-- hatted though i am, no cat am I, though still i feed on all assortments of what i net! we are all the octopus :-- for we reach and we grasp, and the bites of our kisses leave their mark or their notch, more pattern than bloodclot or breakage!~

- lux, i err – really appreciate all you have to say, but i really need to go to the bathroom mate. can you please let go of my hands? your grip is so strong, so tight and so loving, i think it makes me quiver in ways that neither me or my bladder could ever get used to!

- go, brother brux! begin your showers early!

- land's gonna get real fertile, i can tell ya that mate!

– another brick, brother lux. it is a pleasure to be limed with you.

///

...

[armchair slid against the tile, crashed back against the plateglass ;;

ceramic shattering, rootwork of marble slab pulled up by the plinth.]

,,,

\\\

[cpt. psychorragia hunched over throbbing, polishing his pulsating meat, bellowing like an ape peeling, fondling, mashing bunches upon bunches of ripe bananas unfurling in pinecone fountain light waters gushing burgeoning spooge geysers of milk and honey in cascades of neuronal flares all throughout the denser coagulants of himself; all over his muscleboy mantits shoulders so broad and slopey.]

./ o ./

cpt. psychorrhax dabbed the cloth under cpt. schreibermachen's eyes.

blooms darkened the blue to bluer gray, as light as spring rain, shining black as mud beckoning a baptism in clay.

though he picked up far from little, it could hardly be enough.

the tears, infrequent though they were, bled him for the waters came too fast and too heavy, and left joey once more clinging to his brother –

some branch he ducked under to catch reprieve from the downpour, as he looked back to see fields bleak with storm swallowed by the choppy surf of some granite tide, finding himself now alone on a rock stranded out at sea, sodden beneath the wind-torn branches of this lone and rootless tree he kept upright, for he did not know, were he to lean his weight upon its boughs, would it sink or stay afloat.

- you're too good to me, laik.

- that is a contradiction in terms, cpt. schreibermachen.

where joey refused to push himself -- seduced always by the warmth of his brother's arms -- he would find himself pulled beneath the riptide, buried forever in the mudflats which churned beneath the shallow seas.

- what depthless rubber lungs i have! what a well-scrubbed and castiron heart! let no man tell you there is no fortification to be found in running away! for what submersible would i be if i caved to the pressures ... !

joey's hands clenched laika's shoulders.

the blood grew torpid in his veins.

laika spoke, and made himself heard.

- a lesson our brother, cpt. haruspex has no want to learn, for he lives his lectures daily, repeating them with such frequency.

his hands rested in mutual conspiracy with himself to lean further in, for he could feel only useless letting them hang limp at his sides, and so it made itself so that to anchor was always an act of will.

– i shouldn't need you to do these things for me, laik.

though now joey felt only that he could push off, for there could be no indignity greater than being seen for what he could not hide.

once more, laika made himself more.

-- i am the man you love. i would do these things and many more, and i would do them gladly, would you but permit me.

from the distance of a forearm's length, cpt. schreibermachen could meet his brother's eyes ~ the peak of a silver mountain through the mist.

– i shouldn't need you… to take care of me, laik.

laika leaned in.

joey's heat bled through the layers of their shared insulation.

– everyone needs someone to take care of em, joe.

once more, a gooiness clung to the skin of his arms. pearlescent as honeysuckle baked in the heat of their embrace. steam distillations rose from pomegranate flesh and there were nothing but cocktails to be had.

– not the major. never the major. he is truly more – unconquerable than i.

laika allowed himself to linger – he had no cause to contradict in full. not here. where he was needed most. where he most needed to be.

– you don't know what he needs. sometimes i know better, big bro.

joey stayed with him. it seemed natural. no protocol, and no guilt.

he would give anything, for with laika he had all to give.

for laika never asked for things he could not give.

#with this ring #can't live with em #can't ever die without em #fuck you #don't ask me why #i am the reason

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nelapanela94 · 1 year

Note

Nela! Congrats on your 1k event! May I start with some fluff?! 3 and 13 combo sound like an interesting duo! One that would leave you with butterflies :)

Elizaaaaa!!!!

Thank you again!!!!

Here’s the dose of fluff we crave.

TW: Fluff, depiction of injuries

WC: 1.5k

1. “I can’t think straight with you!"

2. “I’d build you a palace.”

***

Sluggishly, Levi opens his eyes through the milky veil of sleepiness and weariness, a deep growl wrenching out from his chest, churning his dry throat. All the gears in his body creak back in place, muscles sore and strained, and his left side stabbing with pain. He smiles when the image clears and the first thing he sees is your face.

He winces at the burning sting sinking into the cradle of his elbow, and then comes your tinkling, soothing voice 'Don't move you, ass. You were injured in battle."

And that's when the large room smooths its edges and corners, rattling and agitated with nurses scuttling from beds to trays to the laundry rooms, the smell of alcohol, bleach and blood wafting in the air. So, this is how it feels like to be on the other end.

There's a first time for everything, isn't there?

The dull throb keeps him tethered in bed.

The last he remembers he was riding his horse, smoke signals blasting and swooshing above him, but against the bleak stage tarnished in gray, the colors were indistinguishable. Rain slashed down melted the roads. Sinewy drops hammered against his shoulders and back, holding a shroud through which you could only see death’s expectant eyes. He heard the shouting and cries, two new recruits he knew well. It was their first expedition. He closed his eyes and saw them, and had to make sure it wasn’t their last.

Whatever you put in him is making everything wobbly. The pain falters, and reality skid out of focus. He feels light, floating, adrift. No worries; no agonies.

A weak smile tugs one corner of his lips as he watches you. “You’re beautiful.”

Creases on your forehead pull up your brows in a grimace.

“Shut up!” You blush hard and avert the eyes, scratching an itch under you jaw, the way you do when you’re nervous. You turn to the tray and rummage for a pair of scissors and roll the sheets at his hips. From the hem of the sleeves, you shear his light blue button up, then another cut parallel to the buttons.

“That was my favorite.” He rasps, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Why do you wear your favorite shirt for an expedition?”

“Admit you just want to see me naked.” He scoffs, and the sting of derisive stares pinch your back. Your peers glance at you, teasing stares and stifled giggles.

“I’m stitching your mouth.”

You remove the torn fabric, dispose it on a bucket standing by your feet, then unbuckle his pants to grant full access to the slash. and damn it, he’s so well built, muscles taut all the way down where the V and a sparse flare of hair dip under the elastic of his briefs. An army of ants march under your cheeks, and you swallow, pouring water to the fire stoked by your rebel hormones. You bite your lips and focus on your job, to clean the wound and make sure this jerk stays alive. Humanity depending on you right now.

“Kiss me instead.” He blurts, rolling his head from side to side on the pillow.

He keeps crossing back and forth the bridge of consciousness.

Through slivered open eyes, he traces the line of your forehead, curving at your nose, your brows knitted in concentration. Your lips juicy in calla Lilly pink.

He feels the needle and thread crawling through, making the two sides of skin re-encounter, the cells in each edge asking the other ‘where were you?’, adding another scar to the record. He wants to reach out and touch you, but his brain cells and nerve endings are on strike under the blurring medication.

Nonsense drips from his mouth, about princes and princesses and fairy-tales he’s never read but heard you babbling about passionately while your nimble hands fix him. Grunting, he closes his eyes and smiles, the cleansing solution running down in rivulets on his skin, washing away blood and sanies, as you gingerly swab him dry with a piece gauze.

He hates this unfamiliar feeling of being vanquished by the inexplicable urge to act on irrational and secret desires. Whatever is coming out of his mouth, he hopes, it's not cringey; he has an image to maintain.

"I'd build you a palace," he spews, and inwardly curses for the crap that wrings out of his mouth. "You and I and our kids... have a date with me."

Your face is charring in bright red, fueled by the tittering of other nurses and winks from the injured soldiers.

"Say yes, Y/N." They cheer.

You wish you could turn into an ostrich and dig your head deep in the ground.

At this point more sedation would be harmful.

You shake your head and exhale a long sigh, apply ointments on the little cuts and bruises and dress the minor injuries in bandages.

He sees you dancing in the low light, coming closer, smiling at him and pushing your devilish grin against his mouth, his hands lacing with yours; you making him bold and naive in a single kiss. You dismantle his defenses, consume him and calm him all at once.

Eventually, he falls asleep, his features relaxed to the slumber, like a little boy's after an evening consuming his energy at the playground.

"Uh?" He blinks twice when he opens the door, flicking his eyes over you with disdain. That dress suits you, your hair falling over your shoulders wildly, not gathered in a bun under a bonnet. "What do you want? I'm busy now."

"On what?" You raise a brow, your hands clasped behind your back, sheepishly. "I've heard you're off duty for two weeks."

"tch."

"You asked me on a date."

"Cut the crap."

You chuckle and push past him, invading his office. "Don't tell me you forgot the scene you pull out at the infirmary."

"What the fuck you talking about?" He gulps, and rubs his sweaty hands on his shirt as he follows.

"You and I having kids, living in a palace, something like that."

"I never said that," he growls and sinks into the couch, pouting, his arms folded over his chest as you pour tea for two.

"There were plenty of witnesses, Levi. The whole ward heard your groggy pathetic confession."

The winks, the beer-clanks, the shoulder pats, it all twines into realization.

Irritation coils in his guts. His fists are clenched like iron balls, plunging into the smooth cushions.

"What about you?" he barks, and drops of chai tea smear tadpoles on the coffee table. "Those clumsy fingers of you,” he snaps.

"This clumsy fingers patched you up." You scowl, and thump the mugs on the refurbished wood. Leather screeches under you. "Asshole. Are you feeling well?"

He looks away, like a grounded boy, and mutters, "thanks. And yes, I heal fast."

You scratch your neck and clear your throat, a bead of cold sweat running down behind your ears. You tear off the death skin of your lips and bring your hands down to your lap. "Do you really... like me?" Tugging at the hem of your dress, you coyly ask, and immediately regret it. You stand at the verge of crying, rub your nose, turn your face away.

Levi frowns, and his tongue twists, delving into for the right words, or at least not destructive ones.

“It’s just…” his teeth rake over his bottom lip, his cheeks incandescent with chagrin. Fuck. He’d rather be fighting titans right now.

“If you want me to, I’ll leave you alone.” You stand and smooth down the skirt of your dress.

“Wait!” His hand grasps yours pleadingly, and he looks up, lips parted. Your gazes intertwine.

“Whatever it is just say it.” You purr serenely. Your head tilts to the side by a fraction, and your eyes slip to your locked hands. He squeezes harder.

“It’s you.”

“Me?” Your perplexed eyes crash with his trembling ones.

“Yes. You.” He lowers his head, and tucks his free hand, set into a fist, against his forehead, clenching his eyes tight in a miserable attempt to get his words right. And he explodes, making the mugs rattle as he smacks his fist onto the table. “I can’t think straight with you!”

It wasn’t the downers.

They just knocked down his walls.

Bewildered, you stare at him, and your grimace becomes a giddy smile that evolves to a blast of laugh. And it’s too late for him to pick up the pieces scattered all over the place. Shameful. It just happened, and it’s too late to draw his hand out of the fire unscathed.

Embarrassed, he ducks his head and sighs, fighting the urge to slap his face and kill the obnoxious tingling in his cheeks.

“You silly.” You extricate from him and rush to the door, giggling, before his eyes catch you.

“Stay.” He groans to his feet and shoves his hands into his pockets, defeated.

With your hand on the knob, you look over your shoulder. “You want me to stay?”

He smiles and nudges his chin to the coffee table. “It’d be a waste of good tea.”

#Levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman/reader #levi ackerman/you #Levi ackerman attack on titan #levi aot #levi attack on titan #aot #attack on titan #snk #snk levi #aot Levi #Levi ackerman fic #Levi ackerman x y/n

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drill-teeth-art · 1 year

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OK family not being a thing in your au makes my very family/tribe/pack oriented monkey brain so so sad (exaggeration) so i gotta ask. Do they have found-families? Like a social link whose importance/intensity is above coworkers and teammates - do they have groups of bots that are important to them? If they do, was that connection present before or after contact with humanity?

They for sure have relationships and groups of higher significance than acquaintances, coworkers, teams, and friends. They just wouldn't classify those relationships as the human definition of family. They've had significant, group bonds as long as their species has existed. They're just different.

Here's a few terms I'm messing with for those relationships. Lore dump under the cut.

Gestaltmates (or Combinermates): This is how groups of combiners would refer to each other! Like Swindle would call Vortex his gestaltmate along with the rest of the Combaticons. Gestaltmates are a group of Transformers who have chosen a group life together that is very much a connection between all of them, and it comes with a combined form after a relatively simple set up of combiner hardware and software. Gestaltmates are all very close with each other, generally. The bond can be entirely romantic between all members like a polycule, only somewhat romantic between a few of them, or not romantic at all but still much closer than any other Transformer. But the romantic nature is for the gestaltmates to decide.

Trine: This is a common term for how flight models refer to their most tight knit group. It's not exclusive to seekers or even flight models in general. For example, Octane, Astrotrain, and Blitzwing in the au refer to themselves as a Triple-Changer trine. The trine can also be more than three but three is the most common. Like gestaltmates, this relationship can vary in the level of romance too. Many trines choose to become "trinebound" which means they get a software that links up their communicator systems to each others very closely.

Setmates: This is the term often used by Transformers built in a set. Sets are Transformers who are designed and built to compliment each other for a variety of reasons. Sets are actually relatively rare projects on Cybertron since Vector Sigma doesn't guarantee the members of a set will have personalities that work well together. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker do not get along perfectly and Cliffjumper and Bumblebee don't talk about being a set at all so most don't even know. Sets are often built using similar but not identical models that are modified to make up for where the other models in their set would struggle. Rumble and Frenzy are a set of cassettes with Rumble classified as a Demolition model and Frenzy as a Chaser model. Reflector was originally designed as a set but was programmed as a multi-body bot instead. Sets are interesting as they are defined as "being made for each other" but in the literal way. Like built to be able to work best together. And all sets have different feelings about that. The Stunticons are technically gestaltmates and setmates, and they think being a set is so cool. Bumblebee and Cliffjumper don't really think it's anything to brag about.

Those are just a few though! I could share more about other terms, specific groups, etc. that I've thought of for my fan continuity au thing! Long answer condensed. They do very much have groups that hold much more significance than other Transformers to them. They just would classify those groups and dynamics with their own terms, definitions, and understandings.

(Hope I do not have too many spelling or grammar errors in this post.)

#ask #transformers #transformers headcanon #transformers au #maccadam #transformers fan continuity #my writing

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lilyhoshikawa · 3 months

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OC Profile: Elaran Xiloscient

(Art by @abstractmayor )

Been a little while since I’ve done an OC profile!! But the current Deicide Incorporated campaign DMed by @daxieoclock is on the brain, so here’s a rundown of the expanded characterization of everybody’s favorite edgelord teen and would-be supervillain.

El is actually one of my older OCs, designed way back in my very first D&D campaign to act as an endgame enemy for Ara. While Elaran barely got to show their face there, I’ve recycled them into this new campaign to get a fresh start! It’s led to a lot of differences from their old incarnation, but I tend to think it’s all for the better! I’ll try to provide any interesting tidbits from the old campaign that got left out of the new version along the way. Like in past profiles, I’ll refer to that as the “original continuity.”

TWs below the cut: drugs, fire, child abuse, self-harm, starvation

Name: Elaran Xiloscient

Aliases: El (common nickname), The Reaper, “Little Reaper Boy”

Gender: Nonbinary Transfeminine

Pronouns: They / Them

Age: 13 (Original Continuity), 17 (Deicide Incorporated)

Class: Warlock

Race: Wood Elf

Birthday: October 19

Hair Color: Dirty Blonde

Eye Color: Brown (previously), Grey (after the fire)

Backstory

Elaran was born into the small forest village of Ceo, occupied by a tight-knit community of elves worshipping the obscure goddess of fortune, Fasarae. One evening, a group of cultists also worshipping Fasarae visited the town, celebrated with them, and drugged the town’s adults to put them to sleep before setting the town on fire. Only two people were able to escape the blaze- Ara (Elaran’s sister) and Elaran themselves, thanks to the help of an elderly warrior woman named Holagella.

By the time Elaran escaped the fire, they were severely burned all over their body, and permanently blinded. Wandering around the vast forest, they were found by Thanatos, a servant of the archdevil Mammon. Thanatos took El in and raised them back to health, providing them with a blindfold that grants them a form of blindsight, and forcing a pact upon them that granted them magic and power in exchange for souls offered up to Mammon.

With their new powers in tow, Elaran became the Reaper, hunting down the cultists that destroyed their life and stealing their souls for their pact. They were known by most townspeople in the places they traveled, ruthless and demented, but also so young. During this period, El had no home and no family, guided only by the occasional appearances of Thanatos, who would show up only to pressure them on their deadlines. El survived narrowly, eating what they could, stealing what they had to, and sleeping in the forest.

During this period, El systematically hunted down every branch and group of the cult, eventually succeeding in exterminating them. They also located their sister, Ara, and plotted their revenge on her before seeing the life she had made for herself and deciding instead to leave her be, to watch her from afar and not intervene in the new life she built.

Once the cultists were dead, El lost their life’s purpose and motivation. Thanatos became more and more agitated with them, providing their only motivation not to give up- if Thanatos was this bad, El could only dream of the terrors Mammon would unleash if they failed him. And so, El began taking souls from anyone they could justify, however vaguely.

This would all end when a letter found its way to them, inviting them to a mysterious group known as Deicide Incorporated.

Abilities

Elaran is completely blind, but their magically-enhanced blindfold grants them a limited form of sight called “magic sense.” It functions by covering their immediate surroundings in a thin layer of magic dust, creating a mental map that they can read. It also allows them to constantly use detect magic. Magic sense is useful in that El can scan an entire room without looking around, but limited in that it prevents them from seeing color, minute physical expressions, or any detailing on the surface of objects (for this reason, they cannot read most texts). Magic sense only works as long as Elaran is wearing the blindfold.

Elaran’s deal with Mammon granted them access to a variety of warlock abilities, though El gravitated towards fire-based attacks as a way to weaponize their trauma. Some of El’s favorite spells include fireball, fire bolt, shadow blade, and eldritch blast, which appears for them as a beam of black fire. El is considered exceptionally powerful and proficient in magic given their age, though their personality tends to lead to them lighting a battlefield aflame with reckless abandon.

Many of El’s spells are still unknown or haven’t yet been used, as they tend to favor bigger and flashier attacks such as fireball. They also possess defensive spells such as wall of fire and mage armor, psychic-based spells such as mind sliver, crown of madness and puppet, and even surprising abilities like viscous mockery and infernal calling.

Elaran is primarily a caster at heart, lacking in strength and constitution due to their physical form being that of a fairly weak child covered in severe burns. They aren’t capable of surviving much damage from enemies, and are susceptible to psychic attacks as well.

Despite their physical shortcomings and their propensity for violence, Elaran actually seems to be rather intelligent and capable of diplomatic solutions when they decide to seek out such options, having been able to ally themselves with a group of Kuo-Toans against their leaders. They also helped assist their allies Lay and Seren in combing through some texts for information about the Gentle Darkness.

In their original continuity, Elaran also had several abilities they have since left behind, such as the power to imbue parts of their soul into objects such as books, and several spider-based powers such as the power to summon or transform into a giant spider.

Visuals

Elaran is a young elf with lightly tanned white skin, freckles, and dirty blonde hair that is usually kept messy and unkempt. While their body is typically well-covered by their clothes, their skin is thoroughly coated in burn scars from the fire, taking up a significant amount of the surface of their skin. They also have a scar from a blade across the lower-left side of their face.

El’s primary outfit prior to joining DINC and during the first arc is a black button-down shirt worn under a black suit vest, black dress pants and combat-style boots, a large blackish-gray cloak with a hood, and a dark blue scarf occasionally used to cover their lower face. This is, of course, accompanied by the black blindfold that grants them their magic sense.

El’s sleepwear include a long blue shirt worn under a black T-shirt and black pants (They commit to the goth aesthetic hard).

After being inducted into the Rubrum Order, El is gifted a uniform by Solas, which involves swapping their scarf out for a vivid red one and their cloak out for a black jacket with gold highlights and a red inner lining worn around their shoulders as a cape.

Elaran has a love of formalwear but a strong hatred for ever actually dressing formally, instead using their clothing choices towards what they intend to be an intimidating, terrifying wardrobe, through really they’re just goth.

El frequently either wears gloves or has bandages around their right hand.

Personality

Elaran likes to present themselves as a cartoonish supervillain, speaking in long dramatic speeches and using flowery language that sounds both unnatural and deeply conceited coming out of their teenager mouth. El often acts arrogant, self-important and prideful, downplaying the achievements of others while indulging in their own perceived successes.

This part of their personality is, of course, largely an act, and a way to walk themselves off from the world and sincere emotions. While part of it is just their bratty troublemaker kid instincts still alive and well, part of it is also a conscious attempt to hide their trauma and avoid making connections with people, sustained from their years of living on the lamb, surviving through intimidation and violence.

At their core, Elaran is still a child, and one that both never got to grow up and grew up too fast. This tends to result in mixed feelings, treating combat as a game while becoming too easily attached to their allies and desperately seeking approval and a place to belong. It doesn’t take much digging to expose the genuine feelings, to have them drop the ten dollar words and speak with the honest frailty of a scared kid in over their head.

El’s emotional vulnerabilities are often exemplified by their physical vulnerabilities, and they have a habit of taking off their blindfold when crying, relying on and trusting those around them. El also tends to shrink when they feel guilty or upset, making themselves small and disappearing into their clothes.

Elaran has a history of self-harm via intentionally burning themselves with their own fire spells. This began while they were training under Thanatos.

In their original continuity, El was a lot more hardened and genuinely cruel, seeking to kill or injure Ara out of a sense of betrayal by her, still stuck in the past and clinging to the family and past they lost. Regardless of the continuity, however, Elaran has always had a penchant for villain monologues.

Relationships

Ara: Elaran’s sister from their old family. The days when they used to bicker and play pranks on one another are long behind them both. While Elaran once resented Ara, believing she abandoned her family, and attempted to hunt her down for revenge, they changed their tune after seeing the efforts she made to honor them in her new life. They have since committed to protecting her, including sending a Kathee to her.

Thanatos: Elaran has never met their patron proper, instead interfacing with Mammon through his follower, Thanatos. Thanatos was, for several years, the only face El could hope to consistently see, and thus they latched onto him as a father figure to some degree. Thanatos used this, in addition to their other power over Elaran, to manipulate them. Thanatos took many things from El, and only kept taking. He remains watching, ever-present like the ticking of a clock.

Solas: upon being welcomed to DINC, Elaran quickly sought out the leader of the Rubrum Order, Solas, and asked him about the situation with Mammon, desperate for guidance. The two quickly became close, with Elaran seeing Solas as a father figure in spite of their attempts not to get too attached to him. Solas, in turn, seemed protective of Elaran, who was ultimately still a scared child seeking aid. This culminated in El’s first night in Imesdale, wherein they begged Solas to stay with them in their inn room. El confided in Solas their history and the way they felt like they were disturbed, and Solas in turn allowed Elaran to feel his own scars and vulnerability. Since becoming blood sisters with Sice, Elaran is now a proper member of tbe Rubrum Order and a daughter to Solas.

Sice: Elaran initially met Sice when they hired her after a battle with the Green Knight. A member of the Rubrum Order and one of Solas’ children, El wanted to speak with Sice in particular to learn about her past as a warlock, the fate of her sibling Saturn, and her connection to Titania. They would get more than they bargained for, of course, when the two began to bond in the Imesdame graveyard over their similar scars. A mere day later and the two had become nearly inseparable, making the pact to become blood sisters, officially welcoming Elaran into the family and the Rubrum Order.

Mars: initially hired by Coy, El didn’t interact much with Mars until after they’d become blood sisters with Sice, prompting them to seek her out. While El had found Mars intimidating and unapproachable, upon confiding in her their feelings of unworthiness for their new spot in the family, the two came to an understanding of one another.

Aneira: with Aneira being the second-youngest member of DINC, El immediately gravitated to her somewhat. The two have a slight friendly rivalry, with Aneira offering up competitions in battle and in the field. While El doesn’t initiate these competitions and acts as if they’re childish, their competitive side never lets them ignore the challenge entirely. The two have often bickered and exchanged insults, though they also seem to get along decently well overall.

Prisma: while the two certainly haven’t become close, it’s clear that El sees Prisma’s relationship to Aneira as a reflection of their own new family. They find her confidence in her own abilities as obnoxious as it is inspiring, and quietly look up to her in some ways. Prisma, in turn, seems to see a bit of Aneira’s younger self in El.

Seren: being that he was another warlock, an elf, and a stuck-up prettyboy, Elaran instantly disliked Seren. They’d form incredible sympathy for him, however, upon seeing his patron act up, and the distress it brought. While El hated having to talk up the strange creature, they recognized the situation for what it was, seeing the reflection of their relationship to Thanatos, and have since quietly sought to free Seren.

Lay: Lay was around when El experienced their first emotional breakdown of many at the DINC headquarters, and was the first to see El at their most vulnerable. As such, they hold a certain amount of respect for the shapeshifter, a gratitude for not holding that over their head, and though they’d never admit it, a slight jealousy of their ability to be anybody they want to.

Coy: Elaran is incredibly suspicious of Coy more than any other party member. While El merely plays a supervillain, Coy seems to actually be one, complete with the lack of reluctance to kill anyone and everyone in their way. Seeing her so close to Mars gives them nothing but pause, desperate to keep their new sister away from somebody who could be dangerous.

Rain: while Elaran hasn’t interacted much with Rain, they do quietly resent having their own voice echoed back at them at times. At the same time, they respect somebody who lacks their own words to speak. They know the feeling.

Maelus: while the two haven’t interacted much, El seems to quite enjoy lightly mocking Mae, taunting him for failed attacks or calling him old. They feel confident in knowing that his relationship to Vengeance could prove a useful weapon if ever they need one. Always wary of men who carry themselves too proudly, El stays vigilant.

Vengeance: due to their magic sense, Elaran was one of the first party members to sniff out that Venge was hiding something, though they did not yet know what. Upon Venge revealing their true form to the party, El was utterly unenthused, hoping their secret might have been more impressive. Still, they can’t help but quietly sympathize with much of Venge’s struggle. The need for an acceptable identity, and the quest for righteous… well, vengeance.

Sigurd: though El hasn’t interacted much with Sigurd, they were immediately thrown off by his initial appearance, seeing that he is seen as an uncle by the Rubrum Order and is a close ally to Solas. El demanded recognition from her and was suspicious of their intentions, though they may have also just been playing it up.

Kathee: a humble servant of the Gentle Dark, Elaran treats their Kathees as a supervillain might their faithful minions. That is to say, there’s an incredible level of respect and gratitude El holds toward the hivemind of allies, one which is usually communicated through evil laughter or meek requests.

Green Knight: the mysterious Green Knight, servant of Titania, is far outside of Elaran’s league of power, but they seem desperate to be acknowledged by her as a worthy adversary.

Trivia

Elaran cannot swim, as they were never taught how. They also hate underwater environments due to the way they soak their many layers of clothing and disorient their magic sense.

Because Elaran never told Ara they were alive, she still assumes them dead, and even included them in a funeral held for the victims of the massacre in Ceo.

El is able to speak Common, Elvish, and Infernal, with the lattermost being taught to them by Thanatos. As such, El’s infernal is spoken with a bit of a posh accent.

El cannot sleep while wearing their blindfold, as magic sense cannot be turned off. It would be like trying to sleep with your eyes open, while taking in a ton of stimuli.

It was El that initially convinced Ara to play the triangle. They suggested it as a joke, but she seemed to actually quite like it. El cannot play any instruments. They’ve tried piano, and Prisma can attest to their lack of natural talent.

The idea for “magic sense” was inspired by the writing and visualization of Daredevil’s enhanced senses in Chip Zdarsky’s run of the comic.

El is both one of my oldest OCs and, perhaps, the longest I have ever been able to restrain myself to hold out for a big twist reveal. For several years, there was only one person I could talk to about this character, if you can believe that!

Curious about any of the names you saw in this profile? Ask @daxieoclock !! As the DM, she’ll definitely have more to share!

#rambles #oc profile #elaran xiloscient #deicide incorporated

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actual-sleeping-beauty · 11 months

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i was tagged in this by @welcometololaland (whose banner i also stole) @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes and @liminalmemories21 i think? idk it was many days ago but here i go!

ONE: Are you named after anyone?

yes, my first and middle names are family names. on the one hand i think my name is quite pretty, but on the other hand i have some complicated feelings about the self-fulfilling prophecy of it

TWO: When was the last time you cried?

uhhhh, probably two thursdays ago when i realized that i'm not going to be able to go back to school in the fall bc of the *gestures broadly*

THREE: Do you have kids?

no, i'm twenty and also pretty sure i don't want them

FOUR: Do you use sarcasm a lot?

yeah. you would be amazed at how well it does not work in arabic.

FIVE: What sports have you played/do you play?

i played baseball until i was nine, at which point i switched to softball until i was about sixteen. i only quit playing bc there wasn't a chill league for teenagers. i was on my school archery team from fourth through eighth grade, and on my school's academic team from sixth to 12th grade. i also practiced jiu jitsu for a couple years in high school, before the pandemic and also before the owners of the gym i went to started being massively transphobic trump fans. i am a team sports girlie at heart tho and i want to try to find an adult softball league after i'm out of college and have some more time.

SIX: What's the first thing you notice about people?

any fun clothes or accessories! i love paying people compliments and "i love your earrings!" is a great one that doesn't comment on people's bodies. i also notice if people are much taller than me.

SEVEN: What's your eye colour?

my driver's license says blue, but it kinda depends on the shirt i'm wearing. yes, i do know that that's an annoying answer.

EIGHT: Scary movies or happy endings?

both? i pick happy endings more often but i do love a good horror movie

NINE: Any special talents?

i'm really good at calling my state representatives and jaywalking? no but for real, i kick ass at learning languages. some people have brains built for math, and i have a brain built to be a polyglot. i'm pretty sure if you dropped me in italy that within six months i'd speak pretty fluent italian, though of course italian and spanish are very similar

TEN: Where were you born?

in a hospital, but not the one any of my siblings were born in

ELEVEN: What are your hobbies?

reading (mostly fic right now), chatting with my friends and sister, crocheting/sewing/knitting, giving tours for my school. (we're all gonna let that last one slide bc i literally did it for fun during the summer one day lol)

TWELVE: Do you have any pets?

yep! my family has two very large dogs, one of whom is a complete idiot and the other of whom is an asshole on purpose. and my roommate has a cat

THIRTEEN: How tall are you?

five two :'( but at least i fit better than most on airplanes

FOURTEEN: Favourite subject in school?

in high school band, biology, history. in college polysci and arabic, with a healthy dose of spanish language literature.

FIFTEEN: Dream job

blah blah i do not dream of labor (except secretly i kind of do) but i would love to work in refugee resettlement using either my spanish or arabic skills. for right now though i have the perfect college job. i love my oldies <3

i think everyone has been tagged in this, so consider this an open tag if you missed it the first go round!

#tag games

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percyjacksonscookies · 5 months

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dude imma say it

the percy jackson tv show sucks so bad

and I have a lot of time to think at work when im not busy with my little tasks so imma rant about it

because my little brain likes to look for connections i guess

anyway

IT SUCKS SOOOOOO BAAAAAAD HOLY

S H I T

its a giant mix of things because of where we are in time

every major piece of media is a huge reflection of the times we live in so uh

it makes sense that this would suck too like every single other piece of media disney has released in the past decadeish (it comes down to taste so if u like a Disney thing, whatever)

but like?!?!

because of the times we live in where writers had to strike for better wages and a semblance of recognition (i dont know the terms exactly) it makes sense that they gave ol' Ricky boy a shot at screen writing cause they didn't really have to take a chance with a new writer. cause u know disney! wherever there are corners to be cut they will! gotta think of the poor ol' bottom line!!

BUT ALSO RICK RIORDAN'S QUALITY IN WRITING WENT DOWN S O HARD AFTER HIS FIRST SERIES WITH PERCY

heroes of Olympus and trials of Apollo do not have the same flavor as the original series and I know plenty of people will agree with me

and thats cause ol' ricky boy (might call him uncle rick ironically cause I have a big family so its in character of me to have beef with an uncle plus like.... cmon its for the bit, an homage to my cringey younger self, and to help me avoid stupid autocorrect on my phone, it works on so many levels, if u must, cringe away) lost the fucking heart of the original series

lost the whole point and charm of the 1st series

it started out as a fucking bed time story for his son for fucks sake!!!!!! so obviously it was going to be a story built on so much love you could feel it in every word he carefully knit together for his son to feel less alone in the world

and thats why I looked up to him for so many years!!!!

he inspired me to start writing!!! so that maybe some day I could also write stories that helped people feel less alone

because the best fucking stories are the ones with the most heart and genuine emotions you feel like you could be there

but uncle rick fucking lost it because i think after the massive success of his first series he saw it as a way to make money for his family instead of a way to lovingly craft something for the sake of it just existing

yet another thing capitalism has taken from us

I have yet to read his other work, as an adult, because percy jackson is such a comfort book for me and I've obsessively done so much research on it I remember him doing an interview once where he said his students found his other works and they were teasing him about the cuss words in the book because of course they were he taught middle schoolers and that is where he is stronger than I

but thats also another thing

since I haven't read his other works, I dont know if they're going to speak to me like percy jackson has, but probably not from the looks of his other series (ive read all of heroes of Olympus and some of trials of Apollo but thats just cause I adore nico)

but I can definitely say for sure without a shadow of a doubt

dude

uncle rick is NOT a screen writer

he SUCKS at it so bad

he definitely doesn't know how to build suspense in film or write around the obstacles that come with live acting

which is embarrassing man

ive been there

did a senior directed play in high school, wrote the script myself

and it sucked pretty bad

because I was a story teller not a script writer!!!! I didnt know what the fuck i was doing!!!!! whenever I wanted a new character I would just invent one out of thin air, what do you mean I had to have an actor for every new character I have?!?!?!?!

soooo grateful i tried that for the first time in high school cause its not that embarrassing when u suck at something as a teenager cause hey!!! ur learning new shit everyday!!

but this ties back into my point of this show reflecting the times

I will say, I prefer the movie of percy jackson over this weird show

and thats cause it had charm! zest! a screenwriter and people that knew how to make movies!

were at such a weird place in cinema

at least in the mainstream american/western media

I saw everything everywhere all at once last year and it blew my tits clean off

but thats because it was made by people who wanted to make art for arts sake!!!! for the love of creation!!!!!

thats why those movies are so successful now

cause there's really no formula to follow anymore so anything that seems original and made with love is so fucking insanely successful and big corporations can't fucking replicate that without taking chances and letting people tell honest earnest stories

which is why every Disney villain sucks now cause they have to also secretly maybe sometimes be a good person

oh no the circumstances they were given made them a villain

hmmm I wonder who helped with the capitalism of it all?? hmmmm such a mystery

I know we all miss when villains were just evil for fun and that was it

like Ursula, they didn't explain shit about her backstory she was just a woman in a cave that had a reputation and had a sick as hell design and that was all people needed to like her (shout out to divine) (also I don't remember much about the little mermaid I am basing this off of vibes)

where was i going with this.....

anyways the pjo TV show sucks

let Rick Riordan cook longer as a screen writer or let him be a co author of the script my god he sucks at this

get an expert screen writer in there asap phew!!!

today's adhd rant has been brought to you by:

this thing

#pjo #i have so muvh to say but im gonna stop #this is a monster of a post #this is definitely my longest post on tumblr and i am Afraid but percy jackson makes me want to talk forever so whatever #i dont have any percy jackson friends so my followers must endure sorry everyone #kinda #i did start out as a pjo blog and branched out but i never really stopped lmao #never shared my thoughts on here though so this is new #time to shout into the void of the internet #my schtuff

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jonesatheart · 7 months

Text

Miscommunication

Unsure how this will fit into anything, it's just a plot bunny I had after my friend shared a bunch of trans!Leo art with me and after telling my dog that I was unable to run around with him because my binder wasn't suitable for exercising. That said this is largely unedited from the initial impulse writing, we die like confused genderfluid people.

"Ya good, Case-man?" Raph asked and trotted over to his friend who was hunched over on his knees.

"Jus' sec," Casey groaned, clutching his chest, without getting up. "Geeze, that guy got me good."

"Ya need Don to check ya out?" Raph knelt next to Casey and gripped his shoulder.

Casey shook his head. "Just need to catch my breath."

"Hey, sit up, alright? Let ya lungs- Casey, what the shell?" Raph demanded when he spotted bandages wrapped around Casey's chest under the torn cloth of his shirt.

Casey's eyes went wide and he pulled his arms in to cover himself. "Raph, I can explain-"

"Explain? Case, that's not good for your ribs!"

"I know, but I didn't know what else to use."

Raph shook his head. "We don't use anything for rib injuries anymore, ya putz."

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell me ya were hurt? C'mon, let's get ya to the lair so Don can take a look atcha." Raph hauled him to his feet.

"Raph, I didn't hurt my ribs at least not before that last fight.

"Then what's with the bandages? What, ya goin' for apocalyptic chic? How the shell are you supposed to breathe like that?"

"Look, I'll explain later, but I really don't wanna be havin' this conversation in front of these guys," Casey gestured at the Purple Dragons that were beginning to stir.

"Fine. If ya sure ya not hurt. And no runnin'! Not till ya get those things off."

"In that case we better head to my place."

"Nuh-uh. Lair's closer."

Casey sighed, not wanting to argue. "Alright."

---

"Hey, Don," Raph called.

"Raph-"

"Who's hurt?" Don called back, not lookin up from his computer.

"I'm fine," Casey insisted. "Not even hardly sore anymore."

"Glad ya think so. Go let Don check ya out. I'll grab ya a shirt."

"Can I at least get a hoodie with it?" Casey asked, resigned to his situation.

"Sure thing."

"Thanks," he sighed and met Don in the medbay. "Hey-"

"Please tell me those aren't ace bandages." Don said when he saw the tears in Casey's shirt."

"Don-"

"Did you go out injured?" He demanded.

"No! Will one'a you, please, just listen'a me?" He growled and dropped onto the cot, dropping his head into his hands.

Don blinked, taken aback by the sudden outburst. He sat beside Casey, hand rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," Don answered calmly. "You just had us concerned. I don't know if you've noticed, but we did grow up pretty sheltered. It makes us tight knit and protective. I know you're not used to that. Are you okay with explaining why you're wearing bandages if you're not hurt?"

"Don't interrupt me, okay?"

Don's brow furrowed. "Okay?"

Casey sighed. "I'm not...actually a guy. I started binding my chest before goin' out as a kinda protection, y'know? Made me less of a target durin' the day if they thought they were lookin' for a guy, and made me less of a target for...other stuff if they didn't know I was woman. And I just...noticed it felt like it fit better, y'know? It made more sense in my brain when I heard people talkin' about me like I was a guy. So. I started bindin' all the time. Started bein' a guy durin' the day when I could too. That's why the bandages."

"Thank you for trusting me with that, Casey," Don replied. "I'm glad to know you're not hurt. Unfortunately, that doesn't make wearing ace bandages around your chest any healthier."

"I know," he moaned. "I mean, I've got some good sports bras, but...I dunno. I started hangin' out with you guys and I just...was afraid to get caught, I guess, so I kept using the bandages cause it seemed like it gave a better illusion of what I was supposed to look like."

"Casey, you're really well built. It's normal for muscular guys to have noticeable pectoral muscles."

"Yeah?" He asked, his voice hopefully.

"Yeah," Don promised. "I'll help you do some more research about safer alternatives, but for now please just use the sports bras?"

"Hey, here's ya clothes," Raph cut in, his voice flat as he tossed a t shirt and hoodie at Casey. "I'm goin' back out."

"Raph-"

"On my own. I need to clear my head." He walked away before anyone could answer.

Casey grimaced. "I think he's mad at me."

"I love my brother, but it's not hard to do. Go ahead and change." Don patted his shoulder.

---

"What's going on with Raph and Casey?" Leo questioned when Don came out of the medbay.

"Just a bit of misunderstanding," Don replied and headed toward the kitchen.

"About?"

"It's not really my place to say. And do not corner Casey about it. I'll talk to Raph if I need to."

"So he's not hurt then?"

"Leo-"

"I just want to know what's going on."

"I know. But...I don't think Casey was really ready to talk about it and...Raph accidentally backed him into it. I don't want to do that to him again. He just needs some space about it, alright?"

Leo sighed. "Alright. I'll trust you on this one."

---

Casey tapped tentatively on the wall outside Raph's door. It had been a few days since they'd last gone on patrol together. Casey had simply stayed away, both to give Raph time to cool down and to psych himself up to being around the guys for the first time without the protection of the bandages. Even in the bulky hoodie, he felt like the difference was obvious.

"Hey, uh, brought back those clothes ya let me borrow. Washed 'em and all that."

"Just toss 'em on my hammock is fine," Raph answered without looking up from the laptop, Casey assumed Donny had built for him.

He set the small stack of clothes on the pillow and shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "Raph?"

"What's up?"

"Are we good?"

Raphael clossd his laptop with a sigh and finally turned toward Casey. "Look, maybe I'm bein' selfish here, but I'm not gonna lie, I feel kinda lied to and I know that not what it is. I know bein' trans isn't lyin'-"

"There's a name for it?"

Raph blinked. "Casey, what kinda rock you been livin' under? I had to look it up, cause I live in the actual sewer, what's your excuse?"

Casey shrugged self-consciously. "It ain't like I had the biggest friend group growin' up. Spent most'a my summers on the farm, remember?"

"...Ya makin' it really hard to stay mad at you, ya know that?"

"Sorry."

"That's not- You really never thought about lookin' into why ya preferred bein' seen as a guy?"

He shrugged again, staring at his shoes. "No. Just thought it was cause'a the autism or something. Too many concussions playin' hockey."

"I mean, ya probably do got some brain damage, but that's doesn't have anythin' to do with bein' trans. Guess I can't really be mad atcha for not trustin' me anymore either."

"Sorry."

"Case. Ya don't gotta keep apologizin', man. My feelin's about the whole thing are mine to figure out, okay? They're not your fault. I mean, it would'a been good to know ahead time in case something came up and we had to cut those bandages off of ya, just so we could.have something else to cover you up or didn't have an immediate heart attack from shock. Ya didn't actually lie to me. You're a guy, it's not your fault genetics didn't get the memo. And yeah, I feel kinda hurt cause it feels like ya didn't trust me when if anybody's gonna know what it feels like to be afraid of gettin' caught it's gonna be me. You didn't owe me that information though. And the other is just kinda me makin' an assumption that ya didn't trust me."

Casey quickly wiped his cheek. "When'd you go to therapy?" He grumbled.

Raph chuckled. "The other night when Don dragged me back home and explained everything to me. So, yeah, we're good. Just no more scarrin' me with random bandages, okay? And do me a favor-" he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled our a soft tape measure, tossing it to Casey"-take some measurements. Bust, under bust, shoulders, and waist, got it?"

"Why?"

"Cause I said so. Do it in here or the bathroom, I don't care, but I need those numbers."

#whumptober2023 #no.19 #alt. miscommunication #tmnt #fic #my writing

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