#T Red Bangles

[extankmechanic]

[rottenpumpkin13]

How do you think ASGZ and the Turks+ Rufus would dress if they were ordinary people living in the real world? (My personal guilty pleasure head cannon is Sephiroth loving leather jackets and V-necks… imagine him in all black, leather jacket, dog tag, some bracelets, black jeans and combat boots… ahem sorry it’s late at night and my thoughts are going weird places)

Sephiroth's go-to outfit: All-black and minimalist is his go-to style, so he does like leather jackets, long coats, and black pants. He wears v-necks sometimes, but prefers button-ups so he can alter how constrictive his shirt is (not the case when he's at home because this man lives for comfortable clothes).

Angeal: I told you this event required you to wear a shirt.

Sephiroth, wearing a button-up that's only fastened at the bottom last button, leaving his whole chest exposed: What's wrong with my shirt?

Angeal: WHAT SHIRT?

Genesis' go-to outfit: Red leather jacket (he has so many of them), a button up/turtle kneck, and knee-high boots. All designer. He accessorizes with jewelry (all gold) such as necklaces, bangles and tons of rings.

Angeal's go-to outfit: sleeveless tee, jeans, boots, and a flannel he either commits to wearing or ties around his waist. All thrifted. Bonus points if the top is DIY'd or tie dye. He's a compulsive tie dyer.

*Zack leaves one of his white shirts out and walks away*

Angeal: Hm.

*Zack comes back and his shirt is tie dye*

Zack, alarmed: MAGIC

Zack's go-to outfit: A fitted tee, baggy pants, fingerless gloves and combat boots. He wears his dog tag as an accessory and hates jackets unless he can roll the sleeves really high.

Zack: I'm ready to go!

Angeal: You cannot wear that shirt out. Go change.

Zack, wearing a shirt that reads "DYSLEXIC WITH TICE NITS": Man, why you gotta be so judgemental?

Sephiroth, still wearing his chest out: Genesis claims he is allergic to good taste.

Angeal: I'm leaving you two at home.

Rufus' go-to outfit: It's a designer suit or nothing; preferably white and pristine, preferably custom-made. He's also likes to wear a kimono and hakama sometimes.

Reno's go-to outfit: A leather jacket, gloves, a button up that's either red or white, gold chain, and jeans, and combat boots.

Rude's go-to outfit: A leather jacket (him and Reno are matching), gloves, wearing all black, usually a button up since he's not a fan of t-shirts, and dress shoes. He likes to accessorize with chains.

Tseng's go-to outfit: No one has ever seen Tseng wear anything other than a suit. Work? suit. Party? suit. Beach? suit. Reno nearly died on the spot the day he and Rude ran into Tseng at the local coffee shop and he was wearing a t-shirt beneath his blazer, no tie, and a silver chain.

Reno: WHO ARE YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH TSENG? Tseng: Why are you and rude wearing matching couple's t-shirts?

[lorddocmarten]

🦇Tips for Dressing Goth on Low-Spoons Days🦇

Note: I am low-support needs disabled, and what works for me might not work for you. I am not a doctor and cannot offer medical advice!

Black hair, baby. I dye my roots with $1.25 men's beard dye from the 'tree now, so that's pretty cost-effective, and you don't have to do anything for your hair to look 'goth'. I wouldn't recommend a mohawk because for it to look maximum cool, you have to style it, and that can take a while. My haircut now is shaved on the sides with short bangs and it looks goth even if I don't style it. It requires minimum maintenance, too.

Pre-layered accessories. Many necklaces- especially ones marketed for 80s costumes- are pre-layered and you only have to work with one clasp. Maximum style for minimum effort. You can find layered necklaces on Amazon, at Halloween stores, and I've even seen them in the costume section of thrift stores. There are also bangle stacks that function the same way.

Strega Fashion and Lagenlook- this might work for wheelchair users, depending on how long your flowy elements are. Lots of tunics and skirts and sweaters and fancy hooded tops, etc. Think of a dark, witchy vibe. Very comfortable and can be easy to style with clothes-you-find-at-Wal-Mart, and relatively cheap.

Nails. I LOVE having long dark red nails for maximum 'spoiled vampire prince' vibes, but sometimes having acrylics or press-ons can be too expensive, impractical, or maybe too femme for you. Whatever the case, I have more recommendations than your standard black nail polish- there's silver nail polish that makes your nails look mirror-like, red nail polish of all shades, purples, etc. For a more masculine, deathrock look you could experiment with dark, zombie-esque greens, or even neon shades to stand out against your darker clothing. Painting my nails can be hard for me due to my coordination issues, so I keep Q-tips nearby and soak them in acetone to clean up the edges.

Eyeliner- they sell jumbo eyeliner sticks and you can basically roll that about your eyes, smudge with your finger, and call it done in about one minute. I have yet to find a sharpener to go with mine, which is unfortunate, but these would seemingly be the way to go when you don't have the spoons to pull out the white base and all that.

Shave your eyebrows. Not necessarily for everybody, but it gives a more alien or 'more human than human' vibe to your look without makeup and makes me look infinitely more goth even in jeans and a t-shirt. YMMV.

Piercings, if you want them, can get them, won't affect your job, etc.- these always look pretty alternative especially when combined with each other. These combined with the black hair will do the job for you, in my opinion. I currently only have my ears double pierced but plan on getting my septum done soon.

[rom-e-o]

A Moment of Weakness (Emmrich/OC)💚F!Rook

The game isn't even out. We don't know Emmrich's personality, VA, ... really, anything beyond the bare bones as I write this ... but I couldn't help myself! I hope this little story is enjoyable, despite inaccuracies, haha!

TW: alcohol mention/mild tipsy behavior.

It had started with a simple sentence, but one that Emmrich immediately realized was shrouded in complex sentiment.

Hours before, Belisma (“Rook”, as she was affectionately called) had knocked on the door to his study and invited him to share a drink with him. More specifically, she had wanted to toast a successfully long day of battles and negotiations by imbibing together at the Lighthouse, a base that was unnerving as it was beautiful. She had even surprised him with a dusty bottle of red imported right from Nevarra. It carried the region’s distinct fruity notes; a stark contrast to the stench of death and semi-permanent haze of stale incense the region was known for.

Perhaps that was why such bottles were so coveted. Even he, with all his knowledge and history of the reason, carried not the knowledge of a versed sommelier. He did know, however, that the drink was strong.

The drink had boosted their spirits quickly, and loosened lips even more so.

Moments before, he'd been laughing amicably at an amusing anecdote she'd told him about an awkward encounter with a former suitor. Quite the crude young man, from what the woman had described. Hardly someone suitable for a woman like her, he'd thought.

Then, she’d let the sentence slip.

"I’m glad I can be useful here … I’m more suited for the battlefield than a quiet life anyway.” Then, she added, "Could you imagine … me, with a husband waiting for me back home? What poor soul could I do that to?”

Emmrich, dressed casually in a starched shirt and trousers (but still adorned in his rings and jangling bangles), paused to flick his gaze at present company.

"What?"

With a little hiccup, she allowed herself to sink against the weight of the table. "It's amusing, isn't it?"

"What is?" Emmrich prodded, a silver brow lifted. Her self-deprecating words had sobered him. "The thought of you with … a husband?”

"Right," she said. "Or a lover or ... someone of similar station. Even if someone was interested, I have nothing to offer. Mages aren’t exactly known for their large dowries and influence – even the wealthiest ones – compared to normal nobles.”

She paused, her eyes drifting askance as she tapped her nails on the oak table. “That was what he said, anyway.”

"Who?"

"Cyril," she reminded him. "I just told you about him. He was my last ... suitor, I suppose. I was 25. We met in a Circle. It feels like yesterday, but... his words stuck. Evidently."

The man gently lowered his chalice onto the table, the sweet wine forgotten. His eyes, rimmed with intrigue but touched with sadness, examined her. While a devoted scholar, Emmrich was also a man with decades of experience working with peers of many ages and backgrounds. Many called him a gentleman for the ways he seemed to invite conversation and put others at ease, but he preferred to his he simply put proper effort into listening. He leaned in, encouraging her to say more.

The silent prodding bore fruit. "I mean, it's inarguable. Look at me."

He did. He had been since they'd started working alongside each other.

He saw a lovely woman, just a small handful of years younger than him. She was a head shorter than him, with a feminine but muscled build from years of training as a mage and honing her skills. Her jaw, cut perfectly square enough to put the gems on any viscount's ring to shame, was adorned with bright eyes and lips that were ... very pleasant.

Her eyes reflected the color of freezing cold sap, tapped from the tree of Emprise du Lion. Her lips, painted with a swatch of coral, looked full and soft as far as he could tell. He hadn't been blessed enough to feel them pillow against his skin, but he could imagine. Her skin bore a light tan, and her hair swung gaily over her shoulders with each spin and flip on the battlefield. Starlight-gray waves sprouted from her scalp, and he thought they framed her face beautifully. Elegantly.

"I ... see you," he said carefully. He stammered a moment, eyes still searching for what she could mean. “I see you quite well, as a matter of fact.”

To him, she looked like a partner anyone would be lucky to have.

"Well, there you go," she added with a light, almost flippant laugh.

"I fail to see what's funny."

"...Emmrich, you don't have to be polite," she said, her voice becoming softer as a result of his stern but inquisitive tone. “I’m not a child.”

"I am being honest, with the politeness always secondary," he reminded her. “Lucanis can testify to that.”

A tense beat of silence passed. Before he could speak up, she sighed and pushed her chalice away. It flared bottom skipped lightly across the uneven wood grain. "I-I'm sorry. That's my cue. I’ve had enough to drink, I believe."

Another shaky laugh left her. Emmrich heard a telltale tremble in her voice, and rose to pursue her.

"Belisma, wait—”

"I’m sorry," she said, cutting him off. Palm flattening against the wall to better support her weight, she made her way toward the great hall's door to exit.

It only took one hobble for him to round the table after her. "You’re unsteady. I'll walk you."

"Please. Stay."

A man of many years, he could easily transcribe her true request from the dismal look on her face: “Keep back and let me go.”

So, he did.

Not one to disobey their leader, especially when she requested something so simple, he respected her desire for space. Falling back, he watched her go. She did not falter again, from what he could see.

Her shadow eventually slinked out of the room and to the left, which was the path he knew led to her quarters. As he watched her vanish into the night-darkened halls of the base, regret filled his lungs like sea water.

He should have said something sooner.

Night.

Night in the Fade was … very similar to the day, he had to admit. It wasn’t even really night, he supposed. Just an agreed upon hour where they all stole moments of slumber between onslaughts of enemies.

Back home, night was the most comfortable hour for the necromancer, as it shrouded the work in a silver-tinted darkness. Temperatures cooled, and his mind could home in better on his duties as an esteemed member of the Mourn Watch. Night was a time for study; a time for work. A time for solving problems he refused to let fester.

Here, the air still shimmered like mica, but the sky did not grow inky like it did in the mortal realms. Its comforts felt somewhat hollow, but it was all he had, so he took them.

When the Lighthouse was quiet save for his footsteps, he left his chamber and began to walk.

Emmrich knew his destination, in theory. There was a sparse list of places their Rook would, or could, travel to for relaxation. One of those areas was a small room located a few floors up, overlooking the Fade’s ever-twitching horizon. A small, stone room where mages could practice magic without risk of rogue spells hurting others.

Upon arriving at the room, he heard her voice from within. Grunts and yells of exertion peppered the otherwise quiet air. The older man took a deep breath, which served the dual purpose of bolstering his confidence as well as calming his racing heart.

He knocked. A beat of silence passed.

Then, a voice called from beyond the iron-enforced frame. "Come in."

A pleasant voice. A kind, womanly, familiar voice that could lure enamored men to burn their tomes for her.

Ignoring that he fit into that category all too neatly himself, he swallowed and entered the chamber. As he laid his palm against the frame, the metal was warm to the touch, even through his adorned glove.

The room was built from stone, top to bottom, with only a few slots to serve as windows. They also provided the handy attribute of ventilation, as this chamber was one mages utilized to train their abilities.

It was quite common to enter the training room to find the air crackling with electricity, or to nearly slip on ice-covered stones from the last mage practicing a bout of freezing spells.

In this case, Belisma appeared to be practicing fire magic. Her staff drawn and the smell of cinder permeating the air, she turned and gave the visitor a smile. The iron-clad tip of her staff still burned red-hot in the semi-darkness as she turned to him.

"Oh! Emmrich."

She looked pleased to see him on the surface, but he knew her better by now. There was a slight, nervous way her lower eyelids would upturn when she peered at him, like she was squinting through him, as if to see better intentions.

Nodding, he risked a step forward. "I thought I heard you in here. I ... wanted to check on you."

Although he spoke carefully, her face still fell at his admission. "Ah. Because of earlier."

"Yes, earlier."

A measured sigh snaked in and out of her lungs.

"It … was a moment of weakness," she confessed, hands dropping to her sides. He noticed with a heavy heart that she cast her gaze to the opposite corner of the room. An obvious sign of shame. "I shouldn't have burdened you with that. I'd had too much to drink and ... I suppose the ghosts of the past got a hold of me. I apologize."

"You needn’t apologize for that," he said kindly. "You're hardly the first one to divulge personal secrets over a chalice of wine, and I'm sure you'll be far from the last."

Her brown eyes sought his. "W-Well, when you put it like that ... perhaps you're right."

"I often am," he teased.

She smiled at that, and his heart leapt again. Gods above, how had any man made the woman before him feel unworthy of affection. Had time-altering spells been more his forte, he might have chanced traveling back a few decades just to clobber the fool with a skull. Or two. Perhaps a dragon skill, if he could lift it. Taash could help, he reasoned.

As the silence spurred his thoughts, it quieted hers in tandem. She sighed, tapping the leather-wrapped end of her staff’s hilt against the floor.

In a split second, bright sparks flitted between the crevices in the stone, snaking their way upwards through the narrow channels until the fire leads to the wicks of the candles adorning the room's small chandelier. With the formerly cavernous room now aglow with firelight, he could more keenly observe a notable flush to her cheeks.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I'm glad I didn't scare you away from wanting to talk to me."

He snorted in amusement. "It'll take more than banter to scare me, dear."

The realization of the term slipping out hit too late, and he cleared his thought awkwardly. "I-I've seen more death than some armies, you know. So n-no. Not scared at all. No."

He heard her chuckle warmly at his stammering. Perhaps she found it endearing, he hoped.

Nonetheless, fighting his own blush now, a hand lofted to scratch his temple. It was also his turn to look away, lest he become lost in those syrupy eyes again.

“I promise to hold my drink better when we hold our next private celebration,” she noted gaily. “You won’t have to listen to an old maid ramble, haha. Nobody here needs that in our only place of respite.”

Just as Emmrich had turned to scuttle away, he was lured back. “Stop that.”

She paused, glancing up at him. “Hm?”

“Stop with the self-depreciating comments, Belisma.”

Unlike his voice before, which had wavered from boyish shyness, his tone in the moment was pure bravado. He allowed himself to take pleasure in watching her cheeks turn cherry-red. Despite the color that bloomed on her face, her eyes remained glued to him.

“E-Emm—”

“You are a woman of immense talent and beauty, and while I enjoy your company here more than the company of any other, I cannot abide by you taking every opportunity to be so disparaging of yourself.”

He took a step toward her, and Maker, she stayed in place. He didn’t so much as take a breath as he dared to advance another. Before he knew it, it had crossed the threshold between them enough for their chests to barely touch. He couldn’t help but note that she was even more captivating from this angle.

“You are our leader, a talented mage, and your dedication to leading us through this rather unprecedented situation is nothing short of remarkable,” he reminded her.

“You think—”

“You call yourself an ‘old maid’? Please. You are an incredible woman, and any soul across Tevinter, Nevarra, or bloody Thedas would be lucky to share a room, or a drink, with you. I certainly am.”

He saw her eyes widen, but he couldn’t stop himself. The floodgates had opened, and it was impossible to bring them crashing down again.

“They’d be even luckier to have you as a partner…a lover, as you said before.”

A stern finger lofted to prod her collarbone lightly, a gesture that would have potentially felt patronizing if they weren’t too adults that seemed to be drifting closer by the second.

The next words caught in his throat.

“A-As I…should …”

The molten intrigue in her eyes vanished in that moment. With the poise he often saw her display on the battlefield, her eyes fell shut as she flowed forward.

He braced for a slap, but felt her lips press against his instead.

Maker, he thought in a blitz of passion, how long had it been since anyone had kissed him? Decades, probably. The thought was met with fleeting entertainment, but quickly passed as he realized he wasn’t going to overthink himself out of appreciating the moment.

He leaned in, hands finding purchase on her hips for balance.

Her lips, as he’d thought, were so soft. They became even more pliable when he reciprocated, angling his head in a way so that slotted his nose beside hers and pressed hard into her cheek. The better angle allowed him to nudge all the closer. Her bottom lip was nestled between his at first, but with another sway of their bodies, she tilted away, and he took the opportunity to take that lip between his teeth just slightly.

He worried for a moment it was too forward, but concerns melted when she moaned (gods, a glorious sound!) and inched her arms upward. First, she gripped his shoulders. Then, her arms wrapped around his neck, nudging their pounding hearts into further alignment.

Just the scrape of his teeth made her gasp again, and her strong arms hauled him closer. With her bosom pressed to his chest and their thighs flush, it was euphoria. The man was too enamored to realized that he’d walked her backward across the room, pressing her to the stone wall gently. Unable to help himself, he smiled against the kiss, and she chased that smile with her own.

When they parted for air, panting and breathless, he stared into her eyes. They looked even darker than they had before. All the more tempting to become lost in them, he noted.

“I…I have not been kissed in a very, very long time …” he admitted breathlessly.

Belisma’s lips, now a slightly more muted shade after he’d kissed her lipstick off, curved into a smile.

“I’ve never been kissed like that,” she confessed with a whisper. “Ever.”

Shared mirth leapt between them, and he dared to rest his forehead against hers.

“P-Perhaps I should get tipsy more often if it leads to pleasant moments like this.”

A laughter, warm like summer thunder, rumbled in his chest. He eyes crinkled as he cupped her cheek, noting how she leaned int his touch.

“Well,” he husked, his voice shifting to a pleasant burr as he urged her close, “All the more reason from you to not drink alone again, dear.”

This time, he leaned in to capture her lips against his.

And she, their fearless Rook, leaned into him with abandon.

I'm now going to go back to begging BioWare for crumbs, haha.

[heliopauseentertainments]

Solar Flare

Now a complete 92k word novel. Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus, one-sided Starscream/Rodimus, Megatron & Starscream, background relationships

Major Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Starscream, Zeta Prime, Ratchet

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of VIolence, Blood & Gore, Serious Injuries, Weddings, Suggestive Themes, Horror Elements (I.E. Horror of the Divine), Reincarnation, Ambiguous Relationships, One-Sided Relationships. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags. AU: Canon Divergence, Gods/goddesses, Early War

Summary:  "To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one." In which Megatron makes a mistake by sparing Rodimus, the Prime of the Sun.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Note: inspired by this art piece on Tumblr.

1st chapter under cut; the full length is on AO3.

"To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one."

Megatron, at first, had been so sure of his words as he pointed at the red and yellow mech across the hall, bedecked in jewelry and silk.

The ornate metal doors that had blocked off the throne room laid crumpled on the polished marble floor under his feet, a testament to the temple’s weakness against real resistance.

In his initial planning, after storming the Temple of the Sun in Nyon, he had thought killing a false god would be the easy part. Especially since this Prime did not have a Lord Protector, no zealous paladin dedicated to defending his worthless spark, Megatron had assumed that there would simply be one less obstacle to his goal.

The defenses had been minimal. Pathetic guards ran screaming for their lives after the mundane frontal assault on the main reinforced doors. There had been no point in giving chase, so Megatron had ordered his soldiers to let them flee. Better to have terrified survivors tell the tale, whereas dead mechs couldn’t spread word of change.

If the other Primal temples were built like this one with pitiful security, their job would be a lot simpler. Megatron doubted that would be the case, but he had also doubted this push would have gone so smoothly.

Now he watched as Primal acolytes pulled on the Prime’s arms and hands, trying in vain to tug him to safety, wherever that might be found, far away from the armed intruders.

The Prime shook them off with an undignified curse before marching unhindered towards Megatron, whom he’d fixed with a glare. Not one of anger, no, one of being inconvenienced.

“What are you doing in my house? You’re freaking out my dudes!”

What.

Megatron wasn’t often taken aback, but it appeared today had yet more surprises in store for him than a suspiciously easy siege.

He had just blasted through reinforced doors with his mechs, neutralized several guards with nary a fatality, and kicked down the door to the sacred throne room where the Prime was expected to waste away his days in luxury and splendor. Yet this… this garish half-pint approached him, fine brocades and bangles swaying with the motion, with neither fear nor hesitation.

Megatron hadn’t been prepared for this.

He had been prepared for the pampered brat cowering on the beautiful, shining marble, begging for his miserable, privileged life. He had been prepared to mercilessly terminate that wastrel with a fusion cannon blast, right through the spark and through that stupid Matrix.

Just as soon as Megatron tired of the sniveling, of course.

Consternation on his face, he powered down his cannon with a soft whir as it was lowered to his side.

“Excuse me?”

The Prime planted his hands on his hips, the bejeweled and festooned fins of his spoiler tilted upward in bold defiance.

"You heard me, bolt brain."

Now that wasn't a very godly thing to say at all. What were they teaching these high-caste deadbeats these days? Insults like that were what Megatron would have expected from an overcharged cadet at a seedy spaceport, not the alleged reincarnation of Solus Prime.

For all the supposed elegance and grace of a Prime, especially the Prime of the Sun, this was a smart-mouthed little punk.

This wasn't remotely what had been expected.

Megatron scowled down at the mech who dared call himself a god.

With a wave of his arm, some of his lollygagging soldiers dispatched towards the back of the throne room to seize fleeing acolytes.

"Don't you realize what's happening here?" Megatron asked, staring right back into the defiant, burning blue gaze. "Are you really that brave or are you just foolish?"

"Oh, yeah, I know what's happening.”

Megatron sincerely doubted that, but better to hear what nonsense this unknowingly condemned moron could come up with. Maybe it would be amusing.

“You're being a total spike right now, bursting in unannounced and trashing my house like one of those medical academy parties they show on the holonet. Wreck your own house!"

Not nearly as amusing as Megatron had hoped.

What in the damned hell was this punk talking about?

No wonder this one had no Lord Protector. Who would tolerate this? Shooting him now would do the world a favor. Making a political statement at this point would be a bonus.

"Didn't your caretakers teach you any manners? Rude." Well, Terminus had tried but…. That was hardly the point. The sheer impertinence of this idiot who had no idea he was about to have a hole put through his spark at point-blank range by a fusion cannon.

"I'm about to kill you and you're upset by my lack of aristocratic manners?"

Manners hadn’t really mattered much where he came from, the predominantly manual-class and disposable-class underground city of Tarn, in the various mines where he’d labored in dangerous conditions for ages, or in the black-market pop-up gladiatorial arenas of Kaon. He had never had use for such niceties and this punk was upset that he wasn’t holding out his little finger while seizing the Primal temple.

Ridiculous.

What next? Did he expect Megatron to use a napkin when painting the floor with the Prime’s slowly dimming lifeblood?

Despite the situation and his rapidly approaching final moment, the Prime relaxed slightly, seeming to consider the contradiction now that it had been pointed out, rubbing his chin all the while.

"I suppose when you put it like that, but only a Prime can kill a Prime so like do whatever—Hey! Wait!"

The hand rubbing his chin abandoned its work to point squarely at Megatron's nose.

"I know you! You're that lunatic that got Kaon blown to slag!"

That was it; they were done here. He had tired of this highborn simpleton’s antics.

“Enough!” Megatron bellowed, smacking that accusing point away with the back of his hand. “I don’t have time for your inane blathering!”

“Hey, rude—“

“Seize him!”

Mechs surged forth, several making grabs for the Prime’s limbs.

The Prime struggled, swearing as he strove to free himself of unwelcome hands. He kicked and punched, denting plate. More than a few titanium teeth from Decepticon mouths pinged against the floor after being knocked out.

Flatline would be rather busy later patching up these morons, Megatron thought, intrigued by just how much of a fight this pampered fool was putting up.

The struggle went on until the soldiers managed to immobilize the Prime’s limbs, removing any space for him to get in another good swing.

"Might I suggest something?" A high-pitched voice piped up behind Megatron’s back, persuasively smooth with all the owner’s public speaking practice despite the underlying tinny screech.

"You may not, but you'll do it regardless of my permission, so out with it, Starscream. Let’s get your suggestion over with."

Starscream stalked closer and began to circle the restrained Prime, as though inspecting a new, expensive purchase. His thrusters clicked haughtily against the smooth floor with every step.

"Rather than immediately dispatch this 'god,' why not simply keep him prisoner?"

"What purpose would that possibly serve?" What a waste of precious fuel and man-hours that could be better allocated elsewhere. Why take on the unnecessary responsibility of babysitting?

"Well, would not a new mech simply be chosen as a puppet to take their place? A supposed reincarnation plucked from a hot spot like a shining miracle in the dark night. The Senate and their drooling lackeys will rally around the divine newspark, stir up the people's faith, and so on and so forth. Keep him alive and that little problem just solves itself, doesn't it?"

Starscream had always had an optic for political nuance, even if Megatron often discarded it in the name of idealogical stringency. He generally felt his time was better spent not playing those games. Direct action tended to suit his purposes far better.

“What of the Matrix?” Megatron asked, gesturing with his thumb at the Prime’s chest. Each Prime had one, bestowed upon them by the priesthood that served their predecessor. Relics passed down between supposed incarnations, a symbol of divinity. Turning that worthless relic into a profane trophy of scrap that would almost as profoundly undermine the blind faith of the populace as actually murdering one of their so-called “gods.”

Megatron tapped his finger against his chin in thought.

“Would not destroying the Matrix render the point moot?” A new god couldn’t be reformatted without it, right? At least, not as far as he knew. The whole thing was rustwash anyway, but that was the official narrative.

Starscream scoffed, waving a hand flippantly at the very idea as he continued to circle the immobilized Prime. His wings fluttered with interest, a behavior Megatron had seen his second-in -command perform on several occasions when he wanted something.

Something about this useless creature had caught Starscream’s attention. That would need to be ironed out later.

“Please. They probably keep a bunch of them in the basement or in a bunker somewhere or something. You break one, someone steals a backup and claims it’s the real thing, safely defended from our destructive irreverence. You get accused of having destroyed a fake one for publicity and the whole ‘message’ you want to send crumbles in shame. You know how it is with these ‘relics.’ A shanix a dozen. Best keep this one as ‘proof’ for now.”

A broad, knowing grin stretched across Starscream’s face, shining with implication.

“And, after all, you can only have the fun of killing him once.”

He hated that Starscream had a point—several, in fact. Telling the seeker so, however, would just cause more problems—the overinflated ego sort—down the line.

Megatron would settle for a simple acknowledgment as he leaned down to get a better look at this bedighted speedster.

The Prime was practically encrusted with jewels and precious metals in the form of ornate jewelry, brocaded mesh draped luxuriously over the fins of his spoiler. Feet planted firmly on the ground, the Prime glared defiantly back up at his captor. In any other situation, Megatron would have thought him a beauty to behold, but now the red mech was just a symbol of resources squandered on mere opulence.

The sight disgusted him or… it should have.

“Very well, Starscream.”

Megatron heaved a tired sigh.

“I haven’t decided what his fate will be just yet,” he said, straightening back up. “Lock him up somewhere. I don’t care where. It doesn’t matter. Just get him out of my sight.”

A few of his mechs hesitated, the ones holding the arms and shoulders of acolytes, as though they weren’t sure what to do with their prisoners. Megatron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stood back up. Did he have to spell out everything for these idiots?

“The cultists too! Just go!”

--

Finally.

The throne room was at peace without that Prime spitting and screaming, now that the brat had been hauled off somewhere in the temple complex, preferably kept under lock and guard.

With the quiet, Megatron could finally get a look around, take stock of the damage and what exactly they had just conquered. This place held many, many valuable resources that they could utilize, either directly or by fencing the goods. Furthermore, he’d gotten it all for the low price of a few explosives, a couple of boot-licking lives, and inadvertent custody a very rude little “god.”

He would figure out what to do with that brat later.

Megatron took a long and slow ventilation before approaching the now abandoned, golden throne at the far end of the room. It glittered in the warm yellow-orange light from the lamps. An impression of the sun was embossed into the high back of the throne and again, smaller, on the arms and seat. It was almost too small, hardly having room for the treads on his back. It was made for more regal frames than his own, intended for heavy industrial work below ground.

The soldiers that still lingered in the room, along with his few lieutenants that had accompanied him, watched in silence.

“We will reinforce the Temple of the Sun, make it an impregnable fortress,” he said, sitting and relaxing into the Primal throne. He supposedly “desecrated” it merely by touch, let alone smearing it with spilled energon and oil from fighting his way through the temple. A shame some of that shed fuel didn’t belong to the previous occupant of this glorified chair.

No matter. It belonged to him now.

From here, it was a short step to de facto controlling the city of Nyon and its weak council.

“With a little work, it’ll make a fine base.” The first, in fact, unless one counted the ruins of Kaon, the last city he and his forces held, he thought, caressing one of the cushioned arms of the throne. After Senate forces bombed the city from the surface of Cybertron, the revolutionaries were forced underground.

Megatron gestured for his lieutenants to approach.

Starscream strode forward, an impatient twitch to his wings and several complaints no doubt already at the tip of his tongue. He still looked smug from his earlier “victory” in changing Megatron’s plans. In stark contrast, Soundwave, ever the professional, simply walked and waited in inscrutable silence for his orders.

"Now, as you know, the Senate is de facto independent, even if they nominally operate under the First Prime in Iacon. They serve no gods but themselves,” Megatron began, “we need to work quickly to fortify our position here. We have some time because they need to calculate the political risk of assaulting Nyon."

They could make good use of this place if they were quick, before the Senate could retaliate for the revolutionaries’ transgressions against the gods. Nyon, however, had one beautiful advantage that Kaon did not: a Primal temple. Even they would hesitate to simply annihilate a sacred location, no matter who held it. Not because they believed, but because the face they would lose with the public would be incalculable.

Megatron smirked, getting comfortable in the stolen throne. Just sitting here was daring the Senate to do something self-destructive and drastic. It was perfect.

Starscream opened his mouth, probably to object, but before he could get words out, he was cut off by a finger pointed in his direction.

“Organize the fortification efforts and recall Shockwave to our new position. Soundwave—“ The blue mech straightened up further to show he was giving his leader his undivided attention. “Round up and contain the remainder of the priesthood. We’re moving in. Once you’ve done that, turn your attention to following the newsfeeds. I want to know the nanoklik Iacon thinks about making a move.”

With a nod, the Soundwave turned on his heel to carry out the command.

Now he just needed to figure out what to do with the blasted Prime of the Sun. Throttling him was unfortunately off the table, for today at least.

Starscream loudly cleared his vocalizer, apparently having something else to say before getting on with his duties.

“What is it now, Starscream?”

“Well, if I may, I have a potential solution to your little Prime problem,” he started, still beaming. It was as though he had guessed Megatron’s thoughts.

“One that could legitimize our position here.”

“I’m listening.” Begrudgingly, but he would hear Starscream out. Might as well.

Megatron narrowed his optics but said nothing as he leaned his face on a raised fist. The seeker took that as permission to continue, a slippery grin stretching across the smooth metal of his face.

“What do you think of the title of Lord Protector? ‘Lord Megatron’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

[rubyred1187]

Who I thought I would be at 19 vs me at 19

Who I thought I would be:

scent: roses after it rains, floral, dirt, moist

long red nails

black tights, cozy sweaters and turtlenecks, skirts, dark colours, black, red, emerald, minimal gold jewelry

studying history

soft spoken, reserved, intellectual

multi-lingual

collecting old books

dark academia, henry winter vibes

always writing

classical literature tucked under arm at all times

focusing on perfect penmanship

learning piano

ballet lessons

be apart of a mysterious and academic friend group

appreciation for old money

writing a serious novel

Who I am:

scent: vanilla, jasmine, sticky dates and citrus

short red nails

worn jeans, colourful T-shirts, boots and sandals, sun dresses, floral maxi-skirts, chunky gold jewelry, bangles, assorted jewelry and rings on every finger

studying history

apprenticeship in acupuncture and herbal medicine

energetic, confident, thoughtful

studying multiple languages

collecting guitar picks and rocks

judg poovy vibes

text to speech

reading everything

scribbling notes on any available surface

hot yoga

having met my best friends that are honest and loving and are not at all in academia

disgust for old money and elitism

[haeseolar]

wrap me in a colour brighter than gold

royalty omegaverse au - kinnporsche / alpha!kinn, omega!porsche

rated T, 1.7k words

read on twitter

----

Porsche has never felt so free in his life.

The music thrums through him, making his skin feel like it’s vibrating and alive, his feet dancing across the marble floor as he sways through the crowd, the bangles around his ankles jingling with each step. He’s not sure how he can even hear them considering the noise in the hall, but he can, as if it’s ringing directly in his ears. 

His robes flow freely behind him like a breeze continuously follows him. The material is light and thin, barely covering anything as it leaves his chest bare and the sides of his legs open, the only thing keeping it together is the thick golden sash around his waist cinching him in. It’d been a gift from Kinn, and despite his fury at such an obscenely expensive courting gift, he’s grateful now to have it. 

Everyone who he passes turns their heads to watch him until everyone but the man he wants is looking. His hands are lifted above his head, preciously holding a full wine glass in one and the other empty, his fingers stretched up towards the heavens. No gods hear him anymore, he realised, but the man sitting on the ornate golden throne before him does.

Porsche moves closer, desperate for attention, to be looked at and simultaneously hidden away at the same time, yearning for the familiar smell of musky vanilla and spice. He cuts through the crowd, not caring if his drink spills over the lip, trailing deep burgundy down his arms, staining the sleeves of his robes. 

As he approaches the throne, he locks onto the dominating figure overseeing the court. Kinn lounges back, thighs spread wide, his dark eyes instantly finding Porsche. His blood simmers low in his stomach at the gaze, hot and heavy, weighted with each second that passes when Kinn takes in his appearance. 

Kinn’s eyes start briefly at his face, skittering around the makeup and jewels adorning his throat, before moving further down. Each inch he takes in, lower and lower, leaves burning invisible marks against his skin. The alpha’s eyebrows furrow, his posture changing, morphing into something more alert. He no longer looks bored, but he doesn’t look happy, either. 

As Kinn’s eyes reach the golden sash around his waist, there as nothing more than an accessory, not acceptance for his courting, his facial expression slackens. He looks charmingly young, eyes wide and lips parted as if he can’t quite believe that Porsche is wearing his gift. It makes Porsche’s heart thump louder in his chest, and as he comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps in front of the throne, all the noise in the room fades out.

Vanilla hits him, calming and inviting, making him want to crawl on all fours up the steps to reach Kinn’s lap, to drape himself over like an expensive rug, but Porsche holds himself back. He must first be invited up to the throne, as they are not yet wedded.

Kinn’s nostrils flare, clearly smelling Porsche’s heightened scent. “What is it, omega?”

Shivers work their way down Porsche’s spine, his knees threatening to give out at being addressed so dismissively. He’s not sure what’s in this wine, or what’s in the air tonight, but he wants.

“May I approach, alpha?” Porsche replies demurely, yet he never looks away, meeting Kinn’s gaze head-on.

Kinn pauses as if considering, despite Porsche smelling every single atom of need radiating off the alpha. It’s nothing more than keeping up appearances for the court, as every single important person in the kingdom has gathered tonight. 

“You may,” Kinn finally acquiesces, gesturing to the empty space in front of him.

Porsche bends, at first looking as if he’s curtseying in front of the alpha king, before making it clear that he’s merely putting his glass down on the floor. Kinn’s eyes narrow on him at the blatant disrespect, but he doesn’t call him out on it as he climbs the steps, the red satin rug sinking between his toes. 

Once he’s close enough that only people who can hear them talking are themselves, Porsche speaks:

“May I sit, alpha?”

Kinn seems confused, first glancing down at the floor, before looking back up again. There is only a single throne in this court, situated on top of a platform.

“Where -”

Porsche grins, his eyes curving and lips stretching languidly across his face as he spins around, flopping down on Kinn’s lap. The motion makes his robes catch underneath him, exposing the entirety of his legs and thighs, all the way up to his hip bones. 

Porsche leans fully into Kinn’s strong frame, cushioning himself on his muscles, fitting his back against his chest and making sure his thighs match up perfectly with Kinn’s. 

“Porsche!” Kinn splutters, every ounce of royalty gone, especially when his hands immediately come up to his waist, gripping tightly around to keep him still.

It doesn’t work as he wriggles, worming his way even farther back onto Kinn’s lap. The hold on his waist becomes bruising, painfully so, but the wine dims down his senses, all but the ones that are motivating him right now. He wants to be wrapped up in Kinn, held close, the only thing he can see and smell is the alpha. He wants everyone in the hall to leave, allowing them to be alone on the throne.

“What are you doing?” Kinn hisses in his ear. 

Porsche giggles, arms coming up behind him to drape around Kinn’s neck. It’s not the comfiest of positions, and it makes his spine arch and chest push out, but it brings their faces closer. His fingers tangle in the small hairs at the nape of Kinn’s neck, resting his head on his shoulder.

“I wanted to see you,” Porsche replies coyly, his words slurring.

“You’re drunk,” Kinn accuses, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t shove Porsche off his lap, doesn’t cast him back to the throngs of people in the hall who are all watching them.

Porsche’s eyelids flutter at the phantom attention. He hopes they all see that he can take what he wants from the alpha king, can do as he wishes and be as free as a bird, all while Kinn - their most savage and yet respected king - sits there and allows it.

“I can leave if you wish,” Porsche says simply, dangling the offer in front of Kinn.

“No,” Kinn barely lets Porsche finish, “You can stay.”

Porsche hums, nosing at the underside of Kinn’s jaw, inhaling deeply, “You smell good.”

“Porsche,” Kinn grits out.

The air between them becomes thick and cloying, shrouding them in a dense fog that only they can see. Porsche’s breath hitches, his lungs contracting and begging for air, to breathe in the alpha’s scent, his instincts screaming at him to bare his neck and offer himself up. Just with one word, his name, Kinn has Porsche pliant and fighting every urge in him to give in.

He won’t, and Kinn knows he won’t, but that’s what makes the game of cat and mouse between them so much more fun. It’s what makes Porsche’s mouth water, his navel tug, his senses light on fire and the world narrow down to just them. It doesn’t matter if hundreds of people watch him, want him, lust after him and wish that they could bed Porsche because none of them is Kinn. None of them are worth a dime, or worth a second of Porsche’s time, because the only one that matters is Kinn.

Kinn, his alpha, his king, who he can feel getting hard beneath him from nothing at all, merely just sitting on his lap. Power and arousal make him dizzy at that thought, that he’s barely done anything at all, and he’s got Kinn like this. 

Porsche shifts, the soft material grazing against his sensitive skin, making him jolt and a whine almost leave his lips. It gets trapped in his throat, quiet enough that only he and Kinn can hear, but it’s enough.

“Are you trying to seduce me, omega?” Kinn questions, his whole body tense. His thighs feel like concrete beneath Porsche from how strained they are.

Porsche looks up at Kinn through his eyelashes, arms dropping down to his side, placing his palms over Kinn’s still on his waist. He presses them in harder, wanting to imprint the design of the sash into their skin, marking them both up for claim.

“I don’t need to try and do that, Kinn,” Porsche whispers, grinning smugly. They both know it’s true. 

Their scents are completely entwined, mingling and swirling in the air, liquid hot and burning. If anyone wasn’t looking before, they definitely are now, fixated and entranced by the sight before them.

Their King and future Queen, wrapped around each other so brazenly, so openly, for all to see.

“Who allowed you to wear this?”

Porsche shivers, knowing that wearing such an outfit would be a risk. It was one he was willing to take - one that would entice people to look, but that he knew Kinn would adore and abhor at the same time.

“I picked it myself,” Porsche replies, glancing down at himself, glad that the folds of the material cover his hard cock. The outfit already leaves little to the imagination, but that’s one thing that he’d rather the population not see. “Do you like it?”

He feels more than hears Kinn’s sharp inhale, his chest withdrawing as quickly as it returns, “I want you to take it off and -”

“And what, alpha?” Porsche sits up, sliding off Kinn’s lap. The air away from him feels frigid and unbidden, alone and daunting, but he persists. The material drapes over his body once more, shifting back into place, “Get changed into something more appropriate, or…” Porsche smirks, his tongue coming out to dampen his dry bottom lip. He basks in the attention lavished on him by Kinn at such a simple act as if he’s in a trance.

Porsche leans forward, the robes gaping, letting Kinn have a clear look at his whole chest and stomach. “Or would you like to take it off me yourself?” Porsche asks quietly. 

He doesn’t wait for the answer, turning on the balls of his feet to make his way back down the steps, leaving Kinn behind him, speechless and reeling. 

Porsche bites his lip to stifle the laugh as he hears Kinn order everyone to get out and makes his way back to their bed chambers. 

[ladykailitha]

Meet Me On the Dance Floor Part 1

Okay, we have now gotten a story I am most concerned with publishing as this is the one where my lack of knowledge is going to show the most. The first part was the original story and if you want, you can stop it there, no harm done. However from part 2-4 is where I take my leap of faith. It’s where we get into a headcanon I have about Mike regarding with how he treats Steve (I’ll put it in the tags for the final 3 parts) and it fits for the story, but I’m not sure if it will stick to the wall so to speak. Also the fourth part will be marked as mature, just heads up for sexy times (Steddie).

*

Steve was sleeping deeply for the first time in what felt like ages.

“Harrington,” someone said above him.

He just snuggled deeper into the covers.

“Steve,” the voice insisted.

He really didn’t want to wake up.

Someone shook him. “Come on, Stevie,” the voice said, warm and inviting.

Steve opened his eyes to see a worried Eddie leaning over him.

“Hey, man. There you are. I was getting worried. I thought you wanted to come with us tonight.”

Steve sat up in a rush. “Shit!” He rubbed his eyes trying to get his vision to clear. “What time is it?”

“6:37pm.”

Steve leapt from the bed, nearly knocking Eddie over. “Shit, shit, shit!” he scrambled to find the clothes he was going to wear. He looked over his shoulder. “Do you think I have time to shower?”

Eddie looked at his watch and winced. “Probably not.”

“Damn it.”

He dashed into the bathroom to at least put on deodorant. But when he went to spray himself, the can was empty. “Fuck!”

“I keep some cologne in the van for times when I smoke at school, I can grab it for you?” Eddie said from the doorway.

Steve sighed in relief. “That would be great. Thanks, dude.”

Eddie hurried out the van while Steve got dressed.

When Eddie came back he was shocked to see Steve’s outfit. He was wearing black dress pants, with a black t-shirt, and black suit jacket. He paired the outfit with his white sneakers. Around his neck was a simple silver chain that barely brushed his collar bones and he had a couple of chains on his belt.

“Looking good, Stevie,” Eddie said with a whistle.

Steve looked over at Eddie, who was wearing his tightest torn-up jeans with a black button up and dark grey vest. He had bangles on his wrists, and chains on his belt. He wore his black bandanna over his hair.

“I could say the same, Eddie,” Steve said with a grin.

Eddie tossed him the can of cologne and Steve gave himself a couple of sprays and tossed it back.

Eddie shoved it in his back pocket as he circled Steve. “I didn’t know you wore black, Stevie. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Steve blushed. “I haven’t worn this in a while, because it’s what I was wearing when Nancy broke up with me. But it’s the only thing I’ve got that’s club worthy and I’m ready to make new memories in tonight.”

Eddie stopped in front of him and tapped his lips with his finger. “It’s missing something.”

Steve looked down at himself and then back at Eddie hopelessly. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got it!” he cried. He pulled off one his rings and put it on Steve’s right hand. “There we go. It would be better if your ears were pierced but this should add just that right amount of style.”

Steve blushed, looking at the ring on his pinkie finger.

“You ready to go?” Eddie asked.

Steve looked up. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

*

Eddie slid into the back seat when they picked up Robin. “Nothing against Stevie being here, but we are going to a gay bar. Do we need a token straight for that?”

Steve and Robin shared a glance before they started laughing.

“Dude,” Steve said. “I thought you knew. I’m bisexual.”

Eddie raised both eyebrows.

“Dingus didn’t even want to come until I said you were coming,” Robin added.

Eddie could see that the back of Steve’s ears had gone bright red and figured his face matched.

“Partly,” Steve defended. “I went from no to maybe when she said you were coming.”

“So what made you decide to come?” Eddie asked as they pulled up to another house.

Steve laid on the horn and Will came barreling out the front door.

“For him,” Steve said quietly.

Eddie got it. Everyone knew Will was gay and everyone knew he had feelings for his best friend.

This whole night was about getting Will out of the straight, white Hawkins and to some place where he could meet other queers. Maybe even some his own age.

Eddie slid over to the opposite side window to give Will some room to get in.

“Hey, guys,” Will greeted shyly.

“You ready to have some fun?” Robin asked.

Will nodded.

“Good.” Steve smiled at his young friend through the rearview mirror.

*

When they got to the club, the music was bouncing and Robin bounced with it.

Steve pointed at the bar. “I’m going to be over there if you need me!” he shouted over the din.

Robin nodded.

Eddie watched Steve head to the bar. “What’s that about?”

“He doesn’t dance. Says he dances like a drunk Muppet!” Robin yelled. “Come on!”

She led them through the crowd and introduced them to some of her friends from college. Soon Will had relaxed enough to start dancing himself. Robin kept her eye on him, while Eddie kept his eye on Steve.

About half way through the night he nudged Robin. “That’s the fifteenth guy Steve has sent away. What the hell is telling them to get them back off so quickly?”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Honestly?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

“He’s telling them he’s bisexual.”

Eddie frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“This your first time at a gay bar?” Robin asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve been to a couple of others.”

“Well, you probably just didn’t notice,” she said. “Bisexuals get shit for being able to ‘pass as straight’,” she said putting air quotes around the last three words.

“Oh.”

Eddie looked over at Steve. “That must fucking suck. Not being able to fit anywhere.”

Robin shrugged, cocking her head to the side. “He says it weeds out the assholes.”

Eddie laughed. “It looks like he’s about to go through the whole fucking bar.”

“All but one,” Robin said, bumping his shoulder.

Eddie gulped.

“Go get him, tiger.”

Eddie looked over at Steve. He sitting on a barstool, leaning on the bar with both of his elbows, nursing a beer. His long legs were stretched out front of him. Eddie licked his lips. He could see why every gay man in the club was seeking him out, hoping for his attention.

Eddie moved through the crowd like a snake on the hunt. Weaving the through the throngs of people, silent and deadly. He licked his lips in anticipation.

Steve clocked him coming in and bit his bottom lip.

“King Steve, keeping court,” Eddie murmured when he got close enough for Steve to hear him.

Steve flashed him a brilliant smile. “Just waiting for my prince to come.”

Eddie looked around them. “Plenty of them out there tonight.”

Steve scoffed. “These frogs? Not hardly.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that. There are some pretty hot guys here just waiting for their chance with you.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “Can you see the stars during the day?”

Eddie frowned. “Of course not, the sun’s out.”

Steve sat up and looked Eddie in the eye. “Exactly. Who can see all those glimmering stars when the sun is right here in front of me.”

Eddie blushed. “Yeah?” He put his hands on Steve’s thighs and gently pushed them apart so he could stand closer to him.

“Oh yeah,” Steve breathed.

Their faces were so close.

“I wanted to mark you so bad,” Eddie admitted. “A bite mark on your neck to show everyone you were taken. That you were mine.”

“But you already marked me as yours, Eds,” Steve said, breathless. “I’m wearing your cologne and your ring. They might not have known who I belonged to, but they knew I belong to someone. And now they can see who it is.”

“Stevie,” Eddie said, taking hold of the sides of Steve’s face and pressing their foreheads together.

Steve lifted his chin, bringing their lips together. Eddie let out a low moan swallowed up by the thumping music.

“I’ve been sitting here, hoping you’d ask me to dance,” Steve admitted.

Eddie chuckled. “Robin said you dance like a drunk Muppet.”

“Oh, I do,” Steve said softly. “But I don’t care what people think as long as I’m with you.” He finished his beer and set it on the bar top.

Eddie jutted his chin at the empty bottle. “How many of those have you had?”

“Just this one,” Steve said. “I’m driving. Elise has been kind enough to ply me with tonic water all night.” He thumbed the bartender behind him.

Elise eyed Eddie up and down. “You’ll do.”

He turned to Steve with a raised eyebrow.

Steve shrugged. “My best friends are lesbians, what can I say?”

Elise laughed. “Go on.” She swatted Steve with her towel. “You know I only tolerate you because you shove a twenty dollar bill in my tip jar at the start of the night.”

Steve laughed, and let Eddie lead him to the dance floor.

*

Robin watched Eddie make the moves on her best friend with a fond smile.

Will came up to her and asked, “Where’s Eddie?”

She pointed at the bar where Eddie and Steve were talking.

“About time,” Will muttered.

“I know, right?” she said with a giggle. She bumped his shoulder. “You having fun?”

Will nodded. “Thanks for taking me.”

“It’s good for you to go out meet with different kinds of queers,” Robin said. “Of all ages. Hawkins isn’t the end of the world, no matter how many times it tried to be.”

Will laughed. He watched as Eddie and Steve made it to the dance floor. “Oh god. He does dance like a drunk Muppet.”

“Yup.”

*Also if you want I can write the coda for the scene Robin asking Steve to come with if anyone is interested. It’s the scene that started the fic in my head I just couldn’t fit it in the actual story. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[chasani]

OC Challenge!! Spin the Wheel and throw your results together :D

Final guy will look something like this, with these varying traits to make them all different :]

Each trait is associated with a number 0-9 that you spin on a wheel!! You spin it, get the number for that trait, and throw it together !! >:) [Wheel]

Anyway!! Traits Below Cut!! :] [ and if you do this, you don’t have to but tag me!! Cause I want to see X3 ]

COLORS

Spin for three! Make it as saturated or desaturated as you want, just only one shade/color per spin.

0 - Black

1 - Red

2 - Orange

3 - Yellow

4 - Green

5 - Blue

6 - Purple

7 - Pink

8 - Grey

9 - White

MASK

0 - No Horns

1 - Short/Stub Horns

2 - Medium Length Horns

3 - Long Horns!!

4 - Ram Horns

5 - Goat Horns OR American Bison Horns

6 - Bull Horns OR African Buffalo Horns

7 - Nubian Ibex or Markhor Horns

8 - Ram + Devil Horns Combo

9 - Royal Antelope Horns

NECK RUFFLES

0 - Four Sets

1, 4, 7 - One Set

2, 5, 8 - Two Sets

3, 6, 9 - Three Sets

‘SHIRT’

0 - Tank Top

1 - Cold Shoulder

2 - Bandages

3 - Patchwork (Any Style)

4 - Peplum

5 - Cape Top

6 - Tie Front

7 - Bikini Top or Tube Top

8 - Button Up

9 - T-Shirt with a Cursed Image

SLEEVES

0 - None

1 - Poofy Sleeves OR Lantern Sleeves

2 - Disconnected Long Sleeves

3 - Bell Sleeves OR Bishop Sleeves

4 - Lace Sleeves

5 - Patchwork Sleeves

6 - Layered Sleeves OR Poet Sleeves

7 - Kimono Style Sleeves

8 - Marie Sleeves

9 - Drop Shoulder or Button Tab

PANTS

0 - Bikini Bottom

1 - Poofy Shorts

2 - Skirt

3 - Ripped Jeans

4 - Flowy Dress

5 - Bell Bottoms

6 - Cargo Pants

7 - Wide Leg Pants

8 - Plaid or Patterned Pajama Pants

9 - Overalls + Spin Again for Style

WAIST ACCESSORIES

0 - None

1 - Belt/s

2 - Ruffles

3 - Fanny Pack/s

4 - Corset

5 - Ribbon OR Sash

6 - Chains

7 - Beads

8 - Harness

9 - Utility Belt

WRIST ACCESSORIES

If you want for this one, respin if you want each wrist to be different

0 - None

1 - Ruffles

2 - Bangles

3 - Belt(s)

4 - Ribbon(s)

5 - Bead Bracelets

6 - Rope

7 - Bandages

8 - Chains

9 - Sweat Bands

ANKLE ACCESSORIES

If you want for this one, respin if you want each leg ankle to be different

0 - None

1 - Ruffles

2 - Belt(s)

3 - Ribbon(s)

4 - Rope

5 - Bandages

6 - Beads

7 - Leggings/Tights

8 - Chains

9 - Leg Warmers

SHOES

0 - Flat Heels

1 - Stud Heels

2 - High Heels

3 - Platform Heels

4 - Laced or Belted Boots

5 - High Tops

6 - Uggs

7 - Sandals

8 - Artist Choice

9 - Barefoot !!

HAIR

0 - Scarf or Headwrap or None

1 - Down

2 - Braids (French, Bubble, etc)

3 - Pixie Cut or Half Shaved

4 - Bun(s) (Messy, Plait, etc)

5 - Ponytail or Pigtails

6 - Short and Curly

7 - Short and Poofy

8 - In a Clip or Pinned Up

9 - Freedraw!

EARRINGS

0 - None

1 - Simple Studs

2 - BIG Hoops

3 - Fun Shapes or Feathers

4 - Rings/Cuffs

5 - Teardrops OR Flowers

6 - Dangley and Space Themed

7 - Mini Object

8 - Something Mismatched

9 - Multiples! Artist’s Choice (Or Spin Again)

EXPRESSION

0, 5 - Happy, Joy

1, 6 - Smirk

2, 7 - Sad, Dissapointment

3, 8 - Anger, Rage

4, 9 - Resting Face

MASK MARKINGS

0 - nope L Bozo + Ratio

1 - Do Anything

2 - Do Anything

3 - Do Anything

4 - Do Anything

5 - Do Anything

6 - Do Anything

7 - Do Anything

8 - Do Anything

9 - Do Anything

And feel free to add anything else!

[haemocyaninz]

..Idk. But hes cute right :)

[Image ID: 3 digital images of Shadow the Hedgehog from the Sonic franchise. The drawing differs from the original in that he has brown skin around his mouth and lighter palms.

Image 1: A digital drawing of 3 Shadows wearing Hello Kitty themed clothes. The leftmost Shadow is wearing a pink dress with her on it. Additionally, he wears gold and silver earrings, a spiked choker, a heart necklace, white fingerless gloves with broken hearts on them, jewel like bangles, a green and magenta belt with a heart buckle, gold green and magenta boots, and bandages on his forearms and calves. His left eye is green and the other is magenta. His quills are afro textured and are colored green and magenta where it would typically be red. He wears smeared lipstick on his bottom lip. The middle Shadow wears a black kitty t shirt with the words “MICKEY MOUSE” written on it. He chews on the collar. The rightmost Shadow wears the same shirt and looks to the side as he scratches his head. The image is labeled “SHADOW X HELLO KITTY”. All 3 figures stand in front of a purple rectangle in front if a white background.

Image 2-3: The reference image of Shadow wearing a Hello Kitty Shirt. ./End ID.]

[spicedrobot]

Withers x Raphael. I trust Withers can make up for the fact that Raph is canonically bad in bed.

THIS HAS END GAME SPOILERS MENTIONED SO DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT RAPHAEL SPOILERS

(also this has spanking in it that wasn't discussed but raph is into it but he's angry about it LMFAO)

-

Raphael prepared for the next strike, determined not to make a sound. He had been successful thus far, but his resolve—previously thought unwavering—wavered. The blow came, just as the last. Hard and sure. His sealed lips caught the sound, barely.

“Thou art stubborn. Thy pride has outgrown its keeper many times over.”

Raphael’s face heated. Somehow, the ghoul’s words were worse than his strikes. Raphael struggled in the ancient one’s grip, but he was unable to break free, unable to barely wriggle. He went still, if only to save himself the shame of such senseless struggle. 

Again, the hand came down. The texture of it was leathery and somehow cool, though it had hit him many times. Raphael could feel the bones within. The bangles along his captor’s arm rang like prayer bells with each hit.

Raphael, fearsome, guileful, exquisite in every way, had been defeated by a group of ragtag mortals. Slain in his own home, in front of his souls and servants, betrayed even, by several of them. By all accounts, he shouldn’t be alive right now. But some devils are harder to kill than others, and his father had always been rather fond of him.

Not fond enough, however, to save him from the creature that had drawn his essence from the void, that had breathed life back into his body and swiftly deposited him over his lap.

Raphael didn’t even know how the ghoul was doing it. He appeared as nothing more than a bag of bones, possessed none of the stink of necrotic magic that animated most undead. Raphael should be able to reduce him to dust with a single glare. But the hand planted between his shoulder blades was enough to keep him pinned, face down, as easily as if he were a child. 

Another slap. Raphael jumped, ground his teeth together. His ass hurt, and not in the way he preferred. Haarlep had always been the perfect pet, followed every order to a ‘T’. This ghoul would not listen to him, had only chuckled a dry, raspy chuckle when Raphael had demanded to be released. 

“How lively. I had forgotten devils could be so.” The ghoul paused. “Though thou art not so fierce a creature in thy current state.”

Raphael had returned to the material plane naked and in the wrong form, his human disguise. This had also pleased the ghoul. Since thou conjured such a disguise to beguile, it is a most fitting appearance for thy punishment. 

The horrible situation was only intensifying. The hand came down. Raphael whimpered. It was quiet, but audible. The ghoul laughed, a smug, satisfied sound.

Raphael glowered, struggled, stilled. He cursed the True Souls in every language he knew—cursed the ghoul handling him with such unrelenting fervor. Raphael’s human body was weak; it could only take so much. The pain was exquisite, impossible to ignore—but it was also having an undesirable affect.

Raphael was stirring. His cock hardened against the ghoul’s clothed thigh. The ghoul’s lap was laughably uncomfortable compared to Haarlep’s, to his own, but his robes were impossibly soft with age, smoother than silk against his bare skin.

The next smack proved too great. Raphael yelped. Against sense, he shifted away from it, forced his cock into the ghoul’s thigh. The sensation choked him, pain-pleasure a vice in his mind.

His pleasure did not shake his captor. The ghoul hummed, considering. “Draped in thy disguise, thy nature still singeth true.” 

Raphael was weak. Powerless. Friendless. In the open air, beneath the moon-bright sky, anyone could venture upon him. The awful and wonderful Raphael, naked and at the mercy of something that looked like a mere ghoul—his backside a startling, cambion red. Raphael, helpless and shivering, his dripping cock making a mess of an undead’s robes. 

The pause between strikes shrunk. Raphael’s thoughts began to lose their edges. Mortification and pain, bliss and pleasure. He could not fight this creature, but to surrender was impossible.

The contradictions tore at him. Horrible. Euphoric. Raphael knew he could come like this, would come like this, eyes bright with tears, whimpering like a boy. 

Then, only then, when the temptation of surrender began to color everything, when the pleasure-pain heightened to a terrifying crescendo, did the ghoul cease. He lowered his hand, slow, unhurried, to Raphael’s backside. He pet the beaten, swollen flesh, as Raphael howled and squirmed.

“There, now. What use does punishment serve if one revels in it so eagerly?”

Raphael was beyond sense, his words lost. The ghoul only shushed him and stroked between his shoulders, ignoring his pleas as well as his cock that so desperately ground into his thigh.

“The night is young, child. If thou art made pleasant and kind, I shall offer them twice fold unto thee.”

Raphael buried his face in the ghoul’s robes. The tears shining in his eyelashes darkened the ancient fabric. Then, with a hiccuping sigh, his shoulders slumped, and he nodded. He relaxed into the ghoul’s hold. Gave in to his fate.

Withers smiled, pleased. And thus, the punishment began once more.

[sarandipitywrites]

NaNo update 11/29 (a big one!)

didn't write a whole lot today, because on one of my breaks i tripped and fell down a motionless in white youtube rabbithole (i regret nothing)

B U T.

i broke 50k words on The Art of Empty Space today! *streamers and fanfare* i still plan on writing/posting tomorrow (because why not?), but after that AES will be on pause for a little bit while i finish the second draft of Dead Roots, Dark Water and grapple with the Total Fucking Plot Overhaul that my brain sprung on me yesterday. so there probably will not be any updates to AES until… january? at the earliest? but updates there will be (because i'm actually really excited about this idea and think it will make AES sooooo much better)

so thanks for listening to me ramble; here's almost everything i wrote today as payment:

Lienzo tried to wait. He tried, but every moment of stillness scraped against his nerves like a whetstone, honed them to a razor's edge that ripped through skin and bone, leaving only tattered wounds behind.

He scurried through the chamber, plucking up all remnants of Baz's cooled rage — a splintered hunk of furniture, a gutted pillow — and piled them in the sitting area by the door. Baz could fix it. He'd fixed Lienzo's nose, his red coat, the hollow in his chest that told other people how to trust and be trusted.

Baz could fix anything.

Lienzo accosted Baz at the door, snatched the gauze and tweezers and ointment from his hands and ushered him into the bathroom to wash off the worst of the blood and the dust. As the water ran, Lienzo dragged a small table to the fireplace and set up their miniature clinic.

Baz had hurt himself over Lienzo then, too.

Even seated, he couldn't be still; his knee kept bouncing, his hands kept tugging at his braids until his scalp ached. When Baz took his seat across from Lienzo, he couldn't look up. He just grabbed blindly for the roll of gauze and Baz's hand. He had to fix what he'd done, only he couldn't fix it, because he'd—

Baz's hand twisted. Strong, black-tipped fingers intertwined with his.

The firelight flickered in Baz's eyes, dark and hypnotic. Beads of water glistened, trapped in the fine curls at his hairline. He pointed down at his letterboard, unrolled on the table between them. At one of the words lining the edge. "Stop."

"But... but I have to—"

Baz shook his head. He pointed at Lienzo. "G-u-i-l-t. Stop."

His teeth sank into his lip. Why? Why should he stop? He was guilty. If he had been calmer, if he'd been better prepared, if he could put aside his stupid, rotted pride for one godsforsaken moment, none of this would have happened. None of it.

"You. No. Control. Me." He gave a crooked smile, a single fang glinting in the firelight. He tapped his own temple, gestured at the fire. "Remember?"

"...And then you need to run into a blizzard to put it out." Because their bodies didn't always obey them. Because when Lienzo was overwhelmed, he flung his words like knives at everyone around him; when Baz was overwhelmed, the fire in his brain scorched him from the inside out.

Baz's grip on his hand loosened; he allowed Lienzo to turn his hand over, to start to wrap the gauze around his knuckles. "Sorry." He tapped the word three times, claw clacking on the table.

"If I'm not allowed to apologize, you're not, either."

A snort. Baz tapped at the bare skin of Lienzo's left wrist. "Mother."

Lienzo's hands froze. The bangle had belonged to Baz's mother? Or it was made from...? "How old were you?"

"Thirteen. Illness."

Lienzo should have wished her ashes safe return. Would have, had he not sold them for a couple bottles of medication. "Baz, I—"

"Stop. No sorry."

He swallowed around the dryness of his throat and nodded. He couldn't look Baz in the eye; he tied off the gauze instead.

"Maza. Sick?"

Lienzo huffed a laugh. It sounded hollow, even to him. "They're always sick. You'd think I'd be used to it, by now." But he wasn't. He never grew used to anything, no matter how hard he tried.

"Other parent?"

"Who knows where he is." He scowled and grabbed the tweezers from the table, began pulling the splinters from beneath Baz's nails. "We don't need him. Never have."

For a moment, Baz said nothing. He drummed his nails beside the letterboard, lip between his teeth. "Sorry," he finally said. "No believe you. Before. Angry. Sorry."

"Yeah. I noticed." On closer inspection, Baz's nails weren't claws like a cat or an ostrix had — they seemed to be part of his fingertips, hard and sharpened into blackened points. "But you don't need to be sorry. I don't think I would've believed me, either."

"Would have done same. If my mother."

Lienzo's throat closed. "You're not...?"

"Upset? Yes." He withdrew his hand, replaced it with the other. Lienzo began wrapping it in gauze. "But understand. Both." He took a corner of his cloak in hand, worried it between his fingers. The gauze was wrapped and tied before he returned to his letterboard. "Forgiven."

"...Thanks. I forgive you, too." This wouldn't happen again; they wouldn't let it. He would shield Baz from the whole world if he had to, if it would keep the fire in his brain from consuming him. Baz would do the same for him. He knew it.

He pulled the last splinter and set the tweezers down. Outside, the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle; sunset streaked through the window, sharpened by the prism of each droplet. Gravity pulled at his muslces, reminded him of the long ride. He rose from the chair, joints groaning. "I guess I should—"

"Stay." Baz looked up at him. His pupils eclipsed his irises into copper halos. "Please."

He shouldn't. He couldn't. Baz didn't mean— "Okay."

Lienzo cursed his tongue as he exchanged his road-worn clothes and binder for an oversized shirt pilfered from Baz's closet. He cursed it as he slipped between soft sheets, nestled into the mound of blankets. He cursed it until Baz's hand brushed his waist, lingered there in a question.

He grabbed Baz's arm and drew it over himself like a blanket.

His mind was quiet. For the first time since the blizzard, his mind was quiet.

AES taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @notwritinganyflufftoday

[falloftheusurperau]

Arc 1: Escape From Fleecy Fields

Chapter 1: The Wedding

CWs: nonconsensual body modification. The lamb uses their godly powers to do Stuff to Narinder

Getting fitted for the wedding is almost as bad as the ceremony itself. Merga has him up on her stupid wooden pedestal thing, stooped over and fussing with the embroidered beading. She’s humming as she works, eyes narrowed in concentration and old, shaky hands somehow the picture of precision. Her assistant is considerably less sure of himself, eyes constantly flitting up to him with ears pinned low. Narinder’s been growling in the back of his throat the entire time, unable to stop it. He hates this. Hates them. The wedding gown–and it is a gown, unfortunately, with a long train and long sleeves and a high, modest neckline–fits him to a t. It’s snug against his fur and shifting the wrong way is incredibly irritating. Not even to mention the jewelry. The lamb must have been collecting gems from Anchordeep’s depths for awhile, because each one was the same red hue, quite a rarity if memory served him.

He refused point blank to let them pierce his ears, but his partner had foreseen such a thing and instead made the decor clip-on. Who had forged such delicate, tiny hinges? He was going to kick them off the nearest cliff. There were bangles and necklaces and even a gold circlet that was attached to the veil, encrusted with rubies. The dress itself was spun of fine silk. Had the circumstances been different, such fineries would have been rather pleasing.

“You look lovely, dearie,” Merga said as if that was any comfort. “They’re a lucky lamb, they are.”

He rolls his eyes and turns his face away. She chuckles softly, shaking her head fondly. Silly child, he can almost hear her thinking. He hopes she drops dead.

A sharp prick of pain makes him yowl and leap back from both of them: Luke looks like he’s just been struck by lightning, frozen in his tracks and eyes wider than should be possible, still holding the offending pin out in one hand. The scent of blood is too faint for either of them but Narinder knows there’s a thin coating on the little metal stick.

“Sorry, I- I’m so sorry-” tears bead along his bottom lids and Narinder hisses at him. “I didn’t mean to-”

“GET OUT!” he finally snaps, throwing one arm toward the door. “Out, out, OUT! If you can’t do your job right then GET OUT!”

He scrambles away like a scolded kit, managing to knock over a carved wooden box full of buttons on the way.

“Honey…” Merga gives him a gentle, stern look. “I know it’s important to you that your big day be perfect, but you really shouldn’t snap at people like that. He’s still learning, you know, and nobody’s perfect.”

Oh yeah. Narinder really hopes she drops dead.

…

The wedding takes place before even the daily sermon–and in fact, replaces the sermon. The temple has been decorated, wall sconces burning with cheerful flames and bouquets of fine roses tied with ribbons everywhere he looks. The pews have special tapestries draped upon the backs, embroidered with the mark of their cult and scriptures about everlasting love and devotion. He’d seen weddings before but never like this. Everyone is in attendance, and he notices his siblings all crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder at the very front. Kallamar looks like he’s about to faint, and Leshy looks like he’s having a hard time sitting still. He’s grateful for their amnesia, honestly. He couldn’t bear it if they bore witness to this humiliation as well. 

Mortals have a tradition of the to-be-wed being escorted down the aisle. Apparently someone must ‘give them away’. What blasphemy. Their lives belonged to their god, who else could possibly grant their spouse the right to their hand? A parent? A sibling? Utter nonsense.

There’s no one to walk him down the aisle. The lamb had offered, of course, citing their high priest could do it, but Narinder had shook them off. Saying this was his choice, and he would give himself away, thank you very much. The lamb had giggled at that and kissed his cheek, saying, “Of course you will, Nari.”

They enter first, as is tradition. Everyone rises for them, sits, then rises again when he comes in. There’s someone off to the side playing a violin, and though the music is well produced it just makes the whole procession worse. He doesn’t so much as flinch under the weight of all their stares, and doesn’t deign to look at any of them; he keeps his eyes straight ahead, directly on the podium. Flower petals delicately crunch beneath his bare feet, and it reminds him achingly of times long past.

The high priestess is officiating the ceremony. A descendent of the very first convert from several centuries ago, someone who had lived and breathed faith in the lamb since the day of her birth. The devotion is palpable; her eyes twinkle with joy and pride a being able to be of service for such a monumental occasion.

Ugh.

It all passes by in a miserable slog. The speech is word-for-word from the holy books of his own followings millenia ago, and after it is spoken the lamb speaks their vows first. It’s long winded and sappy, going on about how, “I truly believe that fate brought me to you, Narinder. When I died that day, so many years ago, and I met you for the first time, that was fate. That was my destiny. You are my destiny. And I want to chase this destiny with you, forever: I want to forever remain by your side, I want to build a life with you, and I promise you now that I’ll work hard every day to make it so. I promise to always love you, and respect you. I promise to give you my best, to always be here to support you, and I promise, more than anything, that I’ll make you happy.”

They’re perfectly nice vows. Clearly well rehearsed. Everyone is ‘awww’ing in the audience.

They squeeze his hands to let him know they’re done, and then it’s his turn.

He’d already prepared for this, months in advance. It was an exceptionally important moment, after all. He swears the same to them, that though their coming together definitely wasn’t in his original plans, he’s come to accept it. Appreciate it. Love it. In the end, he’s happy that things worked out the way they did: he’d never known love as a god, not this, and to trade his seat of power for a fulfilling connection that went straight to the soul was a worthy sacrifice, in his opinion.

His eyes are wet by the end, and his fiancé mirrors it. Fiancé for only a few more moments.

The priestess asks them to solidify their vows with the standard, “I do”’s, and then she closes her book with a bright, beaming smile. “Then it’s my pleasure to officially announce you to everyone gathered here as lawfully wedded partners! You may kiss the-”

The lamb jumps at him, throwing their arms around his neck and kissing him before she can even finish her sentence. The chapel erupts in cheering and clapping and screaming, rice and flower petals being thrown into the air as bells start ringing and everyone starts parroting congratulations. Narinder kisses them back, arms going to their waist to pull them of the ground and spin them in circles like this is the happiest day of his life. The lamb declares the rest of the day holy, and the reception ball is already waiting for them. There’s a grand feast waiting for them, and a fabulous cake with 4 tiers and a tiny carved replica of the two of them on top. There’s music, and dancing, and the party lasts until after the sun sets. Given that it’s summer, it’s rather late before they finally get home.

Moving into the lamb’s house is… interesting. It’s small. Homey. Modest. Humble. Hardly a palace befitting the god they fancied themselves to be. But the bed is big enough for two, and Narinder doesn’t have anything but a few pairs of spare clothes to add, so it’s not like they’re hurting for space.

He collapses onto the mattress with a put-out sigh: his feet ache and his face hurts from pretending to smile.

“That… was… exhausting,” the lamb flops onto the bed beside him, turning onto their side to slide one arm over his waist. They give him a lovesick smile, eyes at their halfway point, and presses their nose into his neck before their lips make contact. “Gods, I love you.”

Narinder grins and turns onto his side so they’re face to face. Leans forward to kiss them, gently, and they taste like the sweet berry wine the whole cult had been indulging in. “I love you, too.”

The lamb lights up, the way they always do when he says those words, and snuggles closer to squeeze him tight for a moment. “In that case,” they wave one hand and the candles all go out in an instant, leaving them with only the lantern light shining in from the outside. It’s incredibly shadowy, and Narinder is glad for his ability to see in the dark. One of the lamb’s legs snakes between his, one foot gently gliding up his shin and hands going to his back, starting to undo the careful lacing of his corset. “Shall we?”

Despite his best efforts, his heart rate spikes.

The consummation.

He knew this was coming of course, but… he thought he was ready for it.

“I-” he stops himself from pulling away. Oh gods. He’s going to have to do this. There’s no way around it. “I- y- yes. Of course.”

Thankfully, his tone is breathless. The lamb’s nimble hands make short work of his wedding garb, removing his jewelry and clothing and shedding their own robes as well. They remove their crown as well and he so badly wants to lunge for it, but he knows they’re closer. And in this form, they’re faster than him. He can’t do anything. He’s stuck.

The lamb is a romantic old sap at heart, and their gentle hands reflect that. They lay him bare in their bed, straddling his lithe form, holding his hands in their own.

“Narinder,” they whisper to him in the dark. “I’m going to give you the most wonderful gift I can, alright?”

…what?

“I’ve been practicing. Experimenting,” what does that mean?! How had they managed to keep not only the ceremony but some kind of devious wedding night consummation experiments from him?! “And… you know how I asked you, once, if you’d ever want to have a family?”

Oh. No.

“...yes?” he squirms minutely. “Why?”

Their eyes glow red in response, godly energy crackling over their shoulders and pooling into their hands, surging into his body at their command. It’s familiar, at first, but it swiftly turns hot, pooling in his belly and he yelps in surprise.

“It’ll only hurt for a second,” they promise, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I swear, just a second.”

“Wh-” his voice catches as the heat continues to build, and begins to poke at him. It gathers in his core like a mace, a heavy, spiked ball of lead beginning to expand in his abdomen. Pain hits him all at once like he’s been stabbed–and he knows what being stabbed feels like, thanks to his sister–but from several directions. He screams, suddenly, starting to thrash beneath them, trying to kick them off. It’s stabbing him in his sides, his belly, between his legs, everywhere. He can feel his organs shifting, resetting, can feel his skin splitting and bones shuffling as his internals decay and grow anew. “What are you doing to me?!”

His voice comes out strangled and panicked and the lamb is infuriatingly calm, shushing him like a small child and telling him not to resist. “Just relax, shhh, you’ll feel better if you do. I’ve got you, Nari. You trust me, right?”

Something wet trickles onto the sheets beneath them and he smells blood. He tries in vain to shove them off, to roll out from under them, but their strength as a god isn’t something he can match. He’s left there to just mewl and cry in misery as his body rewrites itself via their will.

His chest is still heaving and everything is throbbing in agony when they finally spread his thighs and nod.

“Perfect!”

“Wh- What-”

“I told you,” one of their hands slips between his thighs and he jumps. Their fingers are tracing a shape that definitely wasn’t there before, and he sits up just enough to look down. “The best gift I can give you. We’re going to have a family, Nari.”

...

And there we go! As always, thank you to anyone who read this, and uh, give us your thoughts please! We'd love to hear what you think :)

[javen-tiger]

this new desi chick at work comes like in the uniform (black tracksuit pants & t-shirt/hoodie) but like fully decked out with the red lip, sindoor, gold necklace and two massive stacks of bangles. glamour ✨️

[girlypopbops]

my wishlist atm:

༻ bling phone camera lense covers

༻ white Tommy Hilfiger LEXXA sneakers

༻ new black kanken bag

༻ disposable cameras for senior yr of college

༻ EOS vanilla cashmere shea butter

༻ new black & white wildflower phone case

༻ black & leopard slippers

༻ black bonnet & shower cap

༻ silk black & white floral pjs

༻ oversized cashmere zip up hoodie

༻ aquaponic black electric tooth

༻ the bell jar by Sylvia Plath

༻ everything I know about love by Dolly Alderton

༻ all about love: new visions by Bell Hooks

༻ transparent & black post it notes

༻ black sleeping mask

༻ new sunset lamp

༻ black fluffy rug

༻ chunky silver jewelry

༻ maroon framed glasses

༻ new black Stanley

༻ black version of the 5 minute journal

༻ new workout long sleeve top

༻ I love being delusional t shirt

༻ maroon and silver belt

༻ leopard print button up

༻ leopard print pants & short skirt

༻ oversized black and white stripe trousers

༻ y2k scarves

༻ sparkly pants

༻ metallic cow boy boots

༻ candle warmer

༻ clear drawer organizers

༻ white oversized silk button up

༻ clear glass plates

༻ cocktail making kit

༻ atomic habits by James Clear

༻ hair masks

༻ red acrylic nails

༻ were not really strangers

༻ nice record player

༻ tv & LED strips to go behind

༻ vinyls : GUTS, hit me hard and soft, blonde

༻ coffee cup jelly cat

༻ mushroom lamp

༻ stick candles

༻ cannon g7x

༻ bangles

[ka-go-me]

𝟑-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

Green

Blue

Pink

Yellow

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Lilies

Strawberries

Lavender

Lilacs

Warm Milk

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Seifuku: This is probably the most iconic outfit that Kagome is seen in. Her middle school uniform is the main thing she wears throughout the entire series, both manga and anime. It's durable, cheap, and can stand repeated washings. It's green, white and red. She also has a high school seifuku that is mostly blue with a plaid pleated skirt, but she's only seen in that for a few chapters/episodes at the end.

Kosode no Hakama: This is what she is in mostly for RP. She wears it more post-series as she is a miko and now lives primarily in the Sengoku Jidai. It's also extremely comfortable and more durable than her seifuku, I'd say.

Kimono/Junihitoe: Special occasions call for special clothing. And those times when she isn't being a miko. She often wears kimono around the shiro that she and Inuyasha live in with their pups and the help they have. It's an elegant and simplistic way of dressing. She wears junihitoe on very special occasions, such as the rare as hell times when she and Inuyasha have to pose as daimyo and hime for outside visitors.

Modern Era: In the modern era, post-series, she often wears leather and pleather outfits. You can also find her occasionally in short skirts and semi-baggy tops. She rarely wears jeans.

jewelry: For these accessories--she doesn't have or use much. She always has one red ruby pendant earring in her left earlobe, but that's generally about it. She's not really one to dress up in sparkly bangles that often. Though she does have a necklace she got from her bff recently that she wears often now.

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

Bow & Arrows: Her in-hand weapon of choice for running around the Sengoku fighting youkai. You rarely see her away from home without it. She's got strong upper body muscles due to using it for so many years.

Yellow Backpack: Or her yellow monster that could eat the world, as I like to call it. She has this for during canon things, and she carries her text books, food, extra clothes, and First Aid in it. 'The backpack has been since upgraded to a denim knapsack for post series things, and she carries medicines, first aide and other little things in it.

Ruby Pendant Earring: This earring is a relic and reminder of a bygone era where the inu-tachi did more than time travel. It was part of a set of jewelry called the Gems of Kali, and the pieces when all together could open up a portal across the world. This earring was fused to her left earlobe in the use of the jewelry set, and she can no longer remove it as she could the rest. Therefore, it's always with her.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

She chews her lips a lot. This action usually shows either thought, reluctance, or nervousness.

Blushes often. She blushes all the time because she's often embarrassed or when she's being complimented.

She tilts her head frequently. When she does it, she's showing interest or curiosity.

She crosses her arms quite a bit. Usually, it indicates she's either annoyed, off-center, or just doesn't know what to do with her arms.

She also puts her hands on her hips. Often indicates when she's being stern-or funny.

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

Temple steps through Tori gates hidden deep along a mountain path with the greens of summer and beams of sunlight breaking through the foliage.

Plum and sakura blossoms blooming in the spring, coating the ground with their pink and white petals, which also float through the air on the currents of spring time zephyrs.

A girl in kosode no hakama standing in a field of flowers with a babbling brook firing practice arrows at a tree with her bow and arrows.

The deep woods as rain falls the droplets sparkling in the scant light from a cloud-covered moon.

A court lady sitting on the verandas outside of a shoji door, looking out over a serene garden with a koi pond and bridge as she sips tea calmly.

tagged by: @adversitybloomed (thanks dear~ Sorry it's so late. xD 💗💚) tagging: @peculiarbeauty, @sparesovereign, @kamigakushi, @seachant, @loneinuyasha, @akarxuu And you, kind sirs and madams~