#Under an Eldritch Sky

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Under an Eldritch Sky by Paul Kidby

[warlordfelwinter]

avoid the scrutiny of the hungry stars

--

lineart because i'm quite fond of it

[cybertron-after-dark]

what the FUCK happens in cyberverse

Here's a list just off the top of my head, in no particular order. MASSIVE spoilers ahead.

-Wheeljack keeps making party drugs. This is not only accepted but wholly encouraged by the Autobots. He's made the bot equivalent to cocaine so strong it made grimlock physically unable to stop himself from running around the ship at mach 5. This was the basis for an entire episode. He's also made patches that give you a direct link to the Allspark that he passed out at a party specifically to get everyone as fucked up as physically possible. I cannot overemphasize that Optimus make no effort to stop this until things turn destructive on both occasions.

-Soundwave and Shockwave completely fucking hate each other and have a whole rivalry trying to be a better and more useful follower for Megatron than each other.

-Soundwave is a fucking memelord who will play clown music or dramatic riffs to dunk on people from the soundboard he has built into his hardware.

-theres a sort of liminal dimension referred to as Unspace that you can get stuck in and if you are there for too long you will straight up disintegrate. We see this happen to the entire crew aboard the arc from different timelines several times while the main timeline crew we follow tries to escape this fate, thus dooming dozens of other timelines.

-Cheetor is basically Allspark Jesus, and he's tired of all the fighting, so he tries to have Optimus and Megatron settle their differences once and for all. The chosen method for this was making them both play the Newlywed Game. They were both terrible at it, the MegOp Divorce agenda is alive and well.

-the Quintessons invade Cybertron and stick the entire population into a simulation a la The Matrix, which slowly drains their life force until they die. This kills countless unnamed Cybertronians, both Autobot and Decepticon, as well as Hound, who does not get to appear on screen.

-the Quintessons also catch Starscream, rip his face off, and modify him into an Eldritch tentacle beast with his brain attached to two other aliens, and then appoint that amalgamation as the judge that decides the fate of the universe in regards to whether they exterminate all life within it.

-Shockwave commits suicide for Megatron's approval. He launches his spark straight into the Allspark to taint it specifically as a last desperate fuck you to the autobots.

-Soundwave acquired laserbeak by just kind of grabbing a random bird out of the sky.

-Soundblaster is an ex-decepticon that left out of shame. That shame being Soundwave beating his ass in a beatboxing competition so fuckin hard he couldn't show his face around his faction anymore.

-The autobots keep starscream captive and try to get him to take a therapy session with the Arc's AI, and he starts out willing to actually give it a shot but said AI is kind of Stupid and screamer ends up tricking him into letting him escape through an air vent to go wreak havoc instead.

-Starscream also starts a suicide cult with the other Seekers, gains control of Vector Sigma and the Allspark, has the seekers forfeit their sparks to him, thus resulting in a cosmically powered Starscream. He uses that power to "remake" his followers into scraplets that he refers to as, with nothing but love in his tone, his "children."

-Shockwave and Wheeljack are shown to be ex lab partners. Shockwave has an army of drones that look exactly like his altmode that Wheeljack helped program. They are programmed to be able to break out into a coordinated dance number at any given time. Originally this was just to make Wheeljack laugh. Shockwave kept that function in throughout the entire war and initiates it the second there's a truce and Wheeljack asks to see it again.

-Shockwave kidnaps Wheeljack at one point for Science Under Duress purposes and Wheeljack is too invested in all the sweet fuckin tech Shockwave's been making while they were apart to really care that he's being held against his will, and then proceeds to escape without too much issue because he knows Shockwave well enough to know exactly how to disable everything.

-Bumblebee distracts the Decepticons by running in front of their surveillance cameras and shaking his ass in the most underwhelming way imaginable.

-Grimlock is only stupid when he's in his altmode because it takes a lot of power to sustain and he has to sacrifice some of his higher brain functions to keep it manageable. In robot mode he talks like he went to an Ivy League college and knows what champagne tastes like. He throws upscale parties every chance he gets.

-Grimlock also helped start an anticapitalist revolution with Bumblebee when he found an underground society of insect transformers that had a rigid caste system. This was within moments of finding out that the ultra wealthy were hoarding the limited energon reserves for themselves. Grimlock is a comrade and he does not fuck around.

-Skybyte is here and he sounds like Skeletor.

-Windblade and Slipstream are nemeses and somehow it's even more toxic yuri coded than Arcee and airachnid in tfp.

-speaking of Arcee, she's besties with Grimlock. They at one point have a physical fight over who gets to die to protect the other.

-hot rod and soundwave are forced to share leadership over the team of bots and cons that escaped the quintessons' simulation and it's packed with so much homoerotic tension its unreal.

-Maccadam is some kind of lovecraftian war machine that can unfold himself into a whole armory whenever he feels like it. We have no idea what his whole altmode looks like, all we see are the ominous shadows of the weapons on the walls. He uses this specifically as a threat to keep anyone from fighting in his bar bc he's insistent it remain neutral ground. He also can kinda just. See into the future. And casually drops prophecies that get written off as spoonerisms until they turn out to be relevant.

-Optimus Prime has horrific social anxiety that he can kind of power through when he's in a crisis, but the second things are chill and he has to give a speech at a party or something he simply does not know how to function.

-the entire planet of Velocitron gets taken over by cosmic rust and everyone inhabiting it that couldn't escape in time was killed horrifically.

-cosmos is a girl and she hangs out with a dude named Meteorfire who is, for all intents and purposes, just robot Steve Irwin.

-Astrotrain keeps closing doors in people's faces for the funny

-Megatron is killed by a version of himself from an alternate universe that went nuts and starting creating a master race of perfect Decepticons to inhabit Cybertron. Said perfect Decepticons were carbon copies of idw Tarn in all but personality.

-Acidstorm is canonically genderfluid and keeps switching between male and female seeker frames whenever they feel like it

-Kup, who had not been in the show at all until this point, decides to show up and narrate an entire episode like hes giving a political speech.

And, the infamous one we all know and love

-Megatron is a twitch streamer and he livestreams Starscream's fucking funeral. The chat has custom Decepticon emotes.

[moneypriestess]

It starts with the usual 'Justice League has to summon the Ghost King to battle a world-ending threat.' Stick. They decided to do it in the Fortress of Solitude, which took some time to convince Clark to do, but it was the only place that had the possibility to hold the Ghost King if he went off the rocks, especially with all the added protection John did.

So, most of the Justice Leaguers and their sidekicks stood on the outskirts of the giant summoning circle and watched as it glowed a bright luminescent green, and the middle of the circle disappeared, replaced by a hole that, from Superman's place as he hovered a few feet above the ground, looked like a never-ending waterfall of green liquid.

A few minutes passed as everyone held their breath before the waterfall started moving up. Like a volcano, the luminescent liquid shot up and hit the ceiling, falling into drops around everyone. From the water, a shadowy figure appeared, giant and making the water glow brighter with their presence.

For a few seconds after the glowing fountain continued erupting until stopping suddenly and falling back into the hole, a giant eldritch figure revealed as the hole closed up under it.

It looked sort of humanoid, but the most eye-catching thing was its skin. It looked like the galaxy—stars and constellations, planets, and meteors—the being looked like it was made from the galaxy. The stars and planets spun across its skin? And atop his head were wispy white locks, not held down by gravity and flowing with the air in the confined space. On his back was a long cape that reached the floor, and he (it? She? Did gods have a gender, because this being looked more like a god than Zeus did) bent his legs at an angle to not bump his head against the ice roof.

Everyone watched with bated breath as the king, the being, the god reached inside his cape and seemingly grabbed something, coming out with a clenched fist and slowly moving it towards the youngest Robin, the child. Batman barely had any time to swoop in front of his son when the eldritch being opened his hand, and right there, in his palm.

A lollipop.

A green crystal lollipop that made superman fall from his place in the sky and Jon back away from his friend with a pained expression.

The ghost king just gave robin a freaking kryptonite lollipop.

Meanwhile, danny is just wondering why the child touched by death won't take the treat.

[dragondawdles]

ok so I feel like I should preemptively apologize because I'm not sure what you had in mind when you expressed interest in seeing/hearing ideas from me on this but it probably wasn't me just taking that and running and ending up with my own draconified rough designs (+notes) for the three of them but uh! I may be a little silly

hi sending this ask as a free pass to draw as many dragons as you want forever

BUT if you want a specific direction may I propose lizzie joel and/or jimmy? :0c

Omg thanks for the free pass, so generous!!

And sure!! I havent had too many amazing ideas for Jim or Joel... other than canary characteristics for Jimmy, obvs, and something swampy and threatening for Joel (because he is a goddamn menace). I imagine Lizzie as some water blorbo because of the sailor skin and her whole thing in Empires that I have only approximate knowledge of. And thats all I got! If you've any ideas I'm very excited to hear/see them 👁

[mildlybizarrecorvid]

Someone requested to be summoned swiftly, so I started one of these

Do you, or an oc, or a look you like

This guy's Tarrgven, but human to work with the system

@methoxyacetyltryptamine, @louisspikeskellwood, @stackofsnakes, @nick--knack, 

@pokeybananas, @toadboatt, @secretlyafiveheadeddragon, @jochi-the-veristithaylen-baker, @masterwound

@dingleberry-art, @yourpastafarianpriest, @27dragonsinatrenchcoat, @olliedoesthings, @17ghostsinatrenchcoar

@aflairforthemelodramaticc, @thiings-with-wings, @0minimity, @hetalia-newbie-butnotreally, @chaos-triangle

@centellacrow, @problematicghost, @definitely-brasil, @evil-maryland, @solar-panel-official

@frostseeker-draws, @roxtron, @ashes-onthewind, @theasexualagent, @friendly-neighborhood-gambler,

@snknyx, @la-funni-frog, @renneedsahobbytbh, @killtheratwithameatcleaver, @starflare2,

@ethan-torchios-bitch, @cas-the-angel-of-thursday, @secretly-insane, @lookingforfrog, @ilovegorillas

@armath-the-wise, @orion-the-starspinner, @themongosianhorse, @madeline-celeste, @arsonstick,

 @mentodento, @lilithofthevaalley, @attentiondeficitastartes, @re4lfox2ock8,

@inkpoint, @salademalade, @patheticprogrammingperson, @eli-after-dark, @genderfluid-diaries,

@the-true-noodles, @lightbulbsarefun, @fuzzypeng1n, @fourquartertoast, @lesbianapollochild,

@crowthekiller, @stardusts-supervoid, @ontario-officeal, @dragonicat, @themonster-under-your-bed,

@minervakarsh, @la-funni-frog @l4rge-spe4ker @404pagenotavailable @th3-r4t-48

@juniperberryjuice @unused-paradox @neverendnight @breathethewater @not-a-skeleton-and-is-a-human

@thebutterflyoficeandwisteria @thebookshelflord @eldritch-bean @holiday-spice @kanejbr3kker

@lordhavemercyyyyy @unnamedtse @newfoundland-official @blondesillyboylover

@dustyoldclock @someonesrealityshifting @borntobegirlqueen @notatumb1rsexyman @kakzendingen

@itsliterallyjustme @very-gay-poet @cyprysonmteveryst @quiclycasual @sushisocksthereal

@bvnnyl0v3r @yourlocalxiaosimp @sumarmz @gorganicamphibole @the-dragon-sin

@herothat @atlas-the-mythology @gummy-axolotl @asb-nerd-3327 @theshelteredbrat

@thesillyguy @aro-luigi @knightwolfghost @silverwanderingcrow @aspenii

@martinthebean @lemonsharkbite @nyyx-xoxx @magicalgear @basilthesnakingthing

@maybiirds @curliefried @atom1o6 @emilem-forevermore @speakofthedebbie

@beesechurger1909 @mintbecrazy @alchemicalwerewolf @kai-tus @kkqums

@themarshmush @maxspartnerincrime @khaoticspartan @saturn-in-retrograde0 @pyxilate

@charbored @runesofthedivine @hallowsy @faelovesthings @sodium-ion

@tsarq @i-hate--names @that-notrussian @flintlockfrenchkisser @abigail-the-bagel

@3-crows-in-a-trenchcoat @beensjamin @random-fnaf-fan1 @the1970sdeadgaywizard-regulus @off-brand-halloween-ghost

@ that-angry-frog, @offiiciallybavaria, @germany-official, @ffswhyareallthenamestaken, @buggz-owlz,

@kkqums, @ontario-officeal, @crowthekiller, @plorpoy, @anomalocaris-in-da-clurb,

@adhd7seelie, @darth-moth, @girl-with-bones, @not-not-turnblr, @bat-detector

@consumerofshorthomies @the-interidiot @but-aint-this-texas @givenscribbles @real-boeing-757

@kiwi-had-nothing-better-to-do @no-tengo-ojos @jaydove-writes @sky-is-purple-because-i-said-so @jan-pi-suli-ala

[starleska]

The Nightmare Picnic - Wally Darling x Reader

You're a brand new resident in the wonderful Welcome Home Neighbourhood, and it's the perfect day for the picnic! But your dear friend Wally Darling doesn't seem to be enjoying the fun. What will happen when you decide to try and cheer him up?

content warnings for: eye imagery, scopophobia, hypnosis, impossible physics, Eldritch, and unreality. go in assuming that Wally is a weird little guy, and you’re both terrified of and kind of enjoy that fact! 😉 you can also find this fic on my AO3. i hope you enjoy!! 

The day you learn how to love Wally Darling begins like any other.

It is a balmy day, the air soft and thick and dizzy with butterflies. The sun shines with relentless cheer, and nary a cloud can be seen in the sky. Such a day in the Neighbourhood cannot be spent languishing inside, and all your new neighbours think the same way. So, which lovely activity did they decide upon? Why, a picnic on the grass, of course!

The organisation of the event is efficient and cheerful. In no time, the lush meadow surrounding the outskirts of the Neighbourhood is replete with cosy blankets to lie on, fun games to play, and a plethora of delicious foods contributed by each neighbour. Luckily, you’d baked a whole tray of cupcakes the previous day, with the intent of handing them out when bumping into your neighbours going about their daily business. The cupcakes were a huge success; even the ever-curmudgeonly Frank, who always has something to complain about, graces you with a begrudging, “It’s good, I suppose,” when you hand him a vanilla cupcake topped with a green-icing butterfly.

'I needed this,’ you think as you look around at your new friends. You’ve only been a resident of the Neighbourhood for a few months, but in that time you’ve grown so close to its colourful cast of neighbours as if you’d known each other your whole lives. Right now, they’re dotted across the meadow, smiling and laughing without a care in the world: Howdy’s busy putting together an impossibly long string of daisy chains; Eddie and Sally peer into an origami fortune-teller and giggle at the results; Frank leans over a bush, studying a caterpillar, and Julie and Poppy clap and cheer whilst Barnaby entertains them with a juggling act.

It’s a gorgeous scene. Today, your heart is warm.

A small flash of yellow catches your eye. Of course, it’s an incomplete picture. You take in Wally, who sits cross-legged under the shade of a verdant apple tree. He’s holding an apple between both hands and staring at it intently, as if willing the fruit to communicate with him. It’s an odd expression - you aren’t used to seeing Wally in a state of concentration.

“Hey, Wally!” you call.

Wally looks up at you and smiles. He beckons you over.

“Hello,” says Wally, in his simple way. “I’m happy to see you.”

Oh, what a beautiful voice. Every time you hear Wally speak, it’s like the gentle lapping of his syllables sweep away your worries in a single wave.

As you get closer to Wally, you notice a few strands of his deep blue hair turning flyaway and giving in to the heat, curling away from the otherwise-immaculate pompadour and escaping the death-grip of his hairspray. He’s a little dishevelled elsewhere, too; Wally’s neckerchief is coming loose, and though he’s long since abandoned his cardigan, a stray button on his shirt remains stubbornly popped. You find yourself grinning. Wally takes such pride in his appearance that you never get to see him a little less than perfect.

“Same to you!” you say. “Aren’t you hungry? All the food’s down with the others.”

That unusually pensive look on Wally’s face deepens. He turns his eyes back to his apple. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” You rummage in your backpack and pull out a chocolate bar. “You’ve got to eat, bud. You not feeling so good?”

Wally takes the treat from you and examines it for a moment, as if the bar is a scientific curiosity. “That’s very nice of you…but this doesn’t work for me. You should keep it.”

When Wally hands the bar back, your fingers touch for the briefest moment, and a shiver works its way up your spine.

You don’t know when this… thing you have for Wally Darling began. Despite the countless nights you’ve spent desperately trying to focus on something, anything else, your thoughts inevitably return to the little yellow puppet-man and his catlike smile. There’s a strange magnetism to Wally which befits his profession as a television host; everything from the delicate way he handles his paintbrush, to his ridiculous affinity for apples, leaves you with a little more fondness than before. Wally has so much affection stored in one small body, and when you first met, you wondered how any person could love so much all at once.

But now, when you look at Wally, you understand.

“If you’re sure.” You pop the bar back into your bag and sit on the ground in front of Wally, mirroring his cross-legged pose. “The offer’s still there.”

“It’s tempting,” says Wally, now turning his apple over and over in his hands. “I’d like to know what would happen, if I tried. But Barnaby told me it isn’t worth the risk. I trust him to know.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, but the look on Wally’s face is so uncharacteristically brooding that you don’t feel it’s polite to pry. Wally’s always been the drifting sort: those large, dewy eyes of his are perpetually lidded, and always seem to be gazing at something no one else can see. But Wally’s inattentiveness is usually matched with an infectious, excited kind of energy, bursting with nonsense and love.

Today, he almost looks sad. The idea makes you feel sick.

It occurs to you that this may be a personal issue, and Wally doesn’t know you well enough to discuss it. So you ask, “Do you want me to look away?”

Wally’s fingers still. To your surprise, the apple actually drops from his hands and rolls into the grass. You’ve never seen Wally mistreat an apple before - there must be something seriously wrong.

“Actually,” says Wally, now looking at you properly, “I’d like to try something.”

He gestures for you to shuffle closer. When you do, Wally reaches forward and takes hold of your forearms. You make a surprised noise, but Wally squeezes you, and fixes you with a smile full of reassurance and warmth. A rush of heat leaps into your cheeks, and you’re suddenly reminded of an interaction you had with another neighbour not too long ago.

It was only a week after you arrived in the Neighbourhood, and you were finally moving the last of your belongings into your home. All of your new neighbours had graciously donated their time to help you in some fashion, and you were overcome with gratitude. On that final day you were more than capable of doing the rest of the moving yourself, but your closest neighbour - the excitable Julie Joyful - volunteered to help with the last handful of delicate items. At first, you were unsure - Julie is a lovely girl and incredibly fun to be around, but so spirited that you feared for the safety of your items. But a good twenty minutes of allowing her to help with the least fragile of your boxes allayed all your fears: Julie moves with the grace of a ballerina, and the two of you soon had all your boxes stacked in your living room.

Burnt orange sunlight poured through the window, streaming soon-to-be-dusk and casting the wooden floorboards with a vibrant glow. You take a moment from the heavy lifting to look out the window. Across the lawn, you can make out a couple of your neighbours engaging in some game. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s Wally and Barnaby, the former laughing and tossing a series of colourful balls for Barnaby to catch.

You watched as Wally swung his arm and threw a few of the balls a surprising distance, letting the large, spotted dog race off to retrieve them. Wally put his hands on his hips, as if exhausted by the exertion. He turned - and locked eyes with you. Wally’s face broke out into a huge grin, and he gave you a hearty wave. Feeling horribly embarrassed, you waved back, trying to ignore the painful squeezing of your heart. You’ve only known Wally a week, and yet you’re utterly charmed by everything he does.

A tug on your arm brought you back to the present: it’s Julie. She bats her long eyelashes at you, a knowing smile on her face.

“You like hiiiiim, ” she teased, her voice all sing-song.

“What?!”

You grabbed Julie by the shoulders and yanked her away from the window, as if Wally could somehow hear you both through sight. “No! I don’t know where you got an idea like that-”

“It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t need to pretend.”

Your face felt like it was on fire. You’d always been the careful type, ensuring your innermost thoughts and feelings stayed stuffed as far down as possible to keep you safe. But the Neighbourhood bred a kind of emotional honesty with which you were totally unfamiliar. Everyone is so exuberant, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves - some of them even literally, as plenty of your new neighbours wore outfits stitched with cute little hearts! Keeping a secret in the Neighbourhood felt wrong…even a secret crush on the silly little artist whose smile lit up your insides.

So, you give in. “How did you know?”

Julie giggles. She fishes in the pocket of her dress, and pulls out a daisy.

“I know a lot about flowers,” she explained, as she twirled the stem between her fingers. “What kinds grow in different meadows. How much sun and water and love they need to grow. They show it in their petals, and how they lean. People are a lot like that too.

“When you arrived, you looked…wilted. Like you’d been kept out of the sun for too long. I could see it, but didn’t want to ask why. I think everyone else could, too…and we all wanted to help a new friend who lost their colour.”

“You’ve all been so lovely to me,” you said, by way of thanks.

Julie nodded. “Sure we have! And it worked, for a little bit. But for a flower at the end of its days, even fresh soil, plenty of sun and lots of water can only do so much. Your petals seemed faded for good. And that’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy - whatever that looks like for you.”

You swallowed. “You see a lot, for a gardener.”

Julie smiled. “When you care for flowers, you learn to listen to their needs. Sometimes, you’ll have a flower who has everything in the world…but they’re still curling up, and shying away from the light.”

She pressed the daisy into your palm.

“Wally brings the colour back to your petals,” said Julie. “Do yourself a favour. Don’t hide from your sun.”

Another squeeze from Wally brings you out of your recollection. You suck in a deep breath, facing this new reality of Wally holding you, his fingers pleasantly warm and fuzzy.

“Close your eyes,” says Wally gently.

For anyone else, you would’ve paused - but for Wally, you comply immediately.

Slowly, you feel Wally’s hands slide down your arms to your hands. He threads his fingers through yours and holds them firm, so tight that you start to feel your blood thrumming from the pressure. Your hearing, sensitive now your sight is compromised, picks up the distant chatter of your neighbours, as well as the friendly sounds of nature at play. Your skin tingles, sweat-slicked from the heat and the nerves.

“I have a question,” says Wally, his voice wonderfully calm and soft.

“Yes?”

“Why do you eat?”

“Uh…” What kind of question was that? Wally is admittedly prone to posing questions that only a truly strange mind would think up, but this one is so baffling, you’re thrown entirely for a loop. “...So I don’t die, I guess?”

“Ha ha ha ha!” Wally’s unique, halting laugh almost startles you into opening your eyes. “You’re so funny. Okay. Do you know why I eat?”

This time, it takes you a little longer to answer. A simple enough question, surely with the exact same answer? But Wally’s voice has taken on a teasing, knowing edge - a sound you recognise from when he’s setting up a punchline. The question must be a trick. So you rack your brains, trying to think of all the times you’d seen Wally eat: where he was, what he was eating.

With your eyes still closed, you reach a strange realisation.

“I…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”

A soft chuckle from Wally. “That’s right. You haven’t.”

Wally’s grip on your hand tightens. Strangely, a weak, static noise buzzes to life, seemingly from inside your skull. You shift, trying to locate the source, but Wally holds you in place. As the noise grows, the sounds of your friends fizzle out and die. It’s as if you’ve been placed on an invisible train and are moving steadily down the track, away from all the familiar sounds of your Neighbourhood - but you can’t feel the rumbling of the track, or hear the whistle of the wind.

“But…maybe you should.”

With Wally’s words the temperature noticeably drops, and gooseflesh breaks out on your arms. You shudder, wanting to open your eyes but finding that you can’t: your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. You’re stuck in place, pinioned to the grass (which you can no longer feel) as that buzzing sound inches up by the decibel, a nasty, steady crawl which leaves your brain awash in a sea of noise.

“Open your eyes.”

You do so.

And you can’t make sense of what you see.

The sky is gone. The tree is gone. The meadow is gone. Every detail from the Neighbourhood’s comforting landscape has evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a grayscale emptiness which fuzzes in and out like television static. Even the awful buzzing sound abruptly falls away, leaving your ears with nothing but the distant sound of an unseen tide.

Wally still sits in front of you, his hands grasping yours, but it’s like he’s sitting on nothing at all: somehow supported by a cushion of emptiness. It’s like the texture of the world has fallen out of reality.

Seized by vertigo, you tighten your grip on Wally’s hands. “What’s happening?!”

“Don’t worry,” says Wally. “You’re safe.”

“There’s nothing here,” you whisper. “Where is everyone?”

“Back Home,” says Wally. “They can’t see us right now. They’re not ready.” His smile turns coy. “But I think you are. Watch this.”

Wally reaches over and rustles in your backpack. Your heart crawls into your mouth; although you can see Wally’s hands in front of you, you can somehow still feel his hands holding both of yours, keeping you locked in place. You try to look down and make sense of this impossibility, but your eyes are stuck, glued to Wally’s face. You can only watch, terrified, as he takes out your chocolate bar and locks in his gaze.

Without warning, Wally’s eyes flare open, heavy lids drawing back and revealing the full size of his large, black pupils. Wally’s stare travels steadily down the chocolate bar, a focused intensity searing from his eyes like a laser. Somehow as he stares, bite marks are chunked out of the chocolate, as if some great invisible person is taking enormous chomps out of both the bar and wrapper. In seconds, the chocolate is gone.

Panic grips your chest, and you start to hyperventilate. The world tilts, and you’re scared you might actually puke. Wally blinks, his eyelids half-blanketing those pupils once more, and he looks at you with concern. When his eyes connect, your chest convulses with panic: a type of terror you’ve never experienced before threatening to claw its way out of your body and devour you whole.

“What happened?!”

“Oh, don’t be scared,” says Wally, his voice floating and cloudlike. “This is just how I eat.”

“How - did you - do - that?” you gasp.

“I’m not sure. I’ve always eaten this way.” Wally inclines his head in sympathy. “I am sorry if I’ve made you afraid. I usually only eat when others are blinking. That way, I don’t interrupt them. I don’t want to be rude."

You suck in a huge gulp of breath. “Wally, this is…impossible,” you manage. “I want to leave - I want to go Home-”

“You can’t.”

Wally shakes his head mildly from side to side, but his eyes seem to stay still, locked into the centre of his face. No matter how much you strain to move, those incredible eyes remain right in front of you, always at the same distance, never looking away - and never blinking. In your peripheral vision, you see Wally’s hand reach up towards your face. He cups your cheek. The sensation of feeling three arms belonging to a two-armed person on your body sends a rush of nausea through your throat. Wally strokes your skin with his thumb.

“You understand me so well,” says Wally. “You see me, don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.” Another wave of dizziness rises up, pushing behind your eyeballs. The sensation is the same as the pressure of allergies arising on a high pollen day - yet you can no longer smell the flowers of the meadow. You try again in vain to rip your gaze away from Wally’s, but you can’t - and you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

Wally’s thumb stops, resting in the dip of your cheek. “I love my friends, but they only see one part of me. The part they want to see. But you…”

His thumb trails to the edge of your lip.

“...you see all of me.”

You’re split in two. Your brain, the logical part of your thinking, is screaming at you to do anything - to move, to scream, to run as fast as you can into the nightmare emptiness and beg for help. But the other part of you - your traitorous, emotional heart - douses the runaway fire of your fear with the intoxication of Wally’s touch. You find yourself leaning into his hand, savouring how perfectly his cheek cups your palm, and the slight fuzz of his thumb teasing your lip.

“I do,” you whisper. Suddenly, your body relaxes, and you slump forward. You feel very tired. The panic which gripped your body only moments ago is now quashed, flattened into a fine layer of dust by the weight of Wally’s impossibly black eyes. Now your nervous system is nothing but the aftermath: the feeling of fight-or-flight chemicals settling into your bloodstream, leaving you weak and sluggish.

Now, Wally’s eyes are not a source of terror. They’re a blanket you wish to curl up beneath, and never wake up.

“I think you’re special, you know,” says Wally. “The way I feel when I’m around you is…different, than with the others. You’re the absolute most.”

Wally’s words settle over your brain like a dream. You watch, your eyes heavy and drained, as Wally brings his hands up to his chest and forms the shape of his heart with his fingers. You’re no longer scared of the physical contradictions of Wally holding your hands whilst signing his affection. It seems in this reality, Wally can have as many hands as he wants.

This is why Wally’s next question confuses you so:

“Do you think if our friends saw me like this…they’d run away?”

Wally’s words are becoming harder to process. The world around him tunnels. Even though you’re sure that you’re fixed in place, sitting on some immovable, textureless cushion, Wally’s eyes grow larger, encroaching evermore on your limiting field of vision. The longer you look, the more of Wally’s scleras are swallowed by his expanding pupils. Those blown, void-black pools seem to come with their own gravity, and you’re slipping into their inconceivable pull, ready to be strewn and stretched and ripped apart by their physics.

“Oh, Wally,” you try to say, but your tongue slackens, and his name comes out as, ‘Waaalllllyyyy.’ “We love you so much. You can’t make us run away.”

Wally smiles, and you think it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.

“How I wish that were true.”

Suddenly, Wally’s eyes shift just the slightest bit to the left. The effect is like unsealing a pressure chamber. For a moment you are released from his eyes, and your brain and body scramble as one, free-falling and bracing to break against the ground with a hypnic jerk. However, Wally realises his mistake and grabs you by the shoulder - another impossible arm - and forces you to look back into his eyes.

“Shh. Don’t strain yourself. The more you resist, the worse you’ll feel.”

You blink rapidly, trying to reorient yourself in space. Wally’s touch grounds you again, holding you steady in this non-existent space. You try to reply, but your mouth now hangs open, jaw useless. Saliva collects in a pool under your tongue, but Wally still keeps his thumb at the edge of your lip, now rubbing soothing circles against your flesh.

“We don’t have much time,” says Wally. “But…thank you for this. You can’t know how much I appreciate you.”

The warm flush of his approval works its way through your unresponsive body. Your muscles contract, dopamine and serotonin coating your insides and bringing your fingers - still interlocked with Wally’s - into a sudden contraction. You force your mouth into a speech-ready shape, fuelled by his words and his touch and the sheer paradox of his being, and you try so desperately to say, ‘Wally, I love you- ’

But then he looks away.

The spell is broken. Like flipping to another television channel, the world around you snaps back into place in one vivid bound. All the colour, sounds and scents of the Neighbourhood re-enter your senses in one huge burst, and the force of it almost knocks you over. Wally - who is still holding your hands, just like before - keeps you steady, crushing your hands together like he would rather die than let go.

“Hey, you two!”

Looking away from Wally feels like ripping off a plaster. Your eyes alight on Julie trotting up the meadow’s slight incline, clutching a hotdog in one hand and a cooler in the other.

“Eddie wanted me to tell you we’re packing up,” Julie chirps. “Looks like a thunderstorm is coming.” She looks down at your hands, still intertwined with Wally’s, and grins. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Just some good old-fashioned fun,” says Wally, his voice impassive and gentle.

The ability for words has deserted you. You stare back at Wally, searching desperately for something supernatural in the darks of his eyes. Wally looks normal - as normal as a small, yellow puppet can - and his eyes are back to their half-lidded, sleepy-looking state. It takes a couple of nudges with his foot for Wally to bring you back to earth.

Wally lets go of your hands, and you can feel the blood pumping in the spaces between your fingers. You try standing up, but your legs are weak and wobbly, as if you’d just run a marathon while sitting in one spot. They would’ve collapsed beneath you, but Wally catches you before you slip. He hauls you up and loops his arm around yours.

“Just hungry,” Wally says with a smile. “Let’s get you Home."

Julie leads the way down the small embankment, with Wally supporting your timid, uneasy steps. You soon reach your neighbours, now busying themselves in tidying up the remnants of your picnic. Upon seeing you, they all crowd around, asking if you’re okay. Barnaby remarks that you look terribly pale, and Sally offers to bring you a drink. However, Wally shoos them off, admonishing them in a familial sort of way. He reassures them that you’ve just had a small fainting spell, and need to get some rest.

Now free of the others, Julie, Wally and yourself make the way home - and you’re thankful it’s only a short distance. When you finally reach your porch you want to fall over onto the steps, but Wally keeps you held upright: a firm, reassuring presence at your side.

“You need to tell us if you get this again, okay?” says Julie, looking at you with worry in her eyes.

“Okay,” you say, giving a weak nod.

“Thank you. Feel better soon, okay?”

Julie gives you and Wally a final glance over. Having determined you’ll be more than fine in Wally’s care, she bids her goodbyes and skips off to help the rest of your neighbours.

“Ha ha ha,” laughs Wally. “Julie is a good friend. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”

You look sideways at Wally. He catches your eye, and dips his head in a nod. “I feel the same way about you,” he says.

The question is implied in his voice - a little waver at the edge of his words.

“Wally…I don’t really understand what happened today,” you say. “But…I know it doesn’t change how much I like you."

The beam that dawns on Wally’s face is so wide, it almost cracks in two. “Thank you,” he whispers.

You can’t help but return the grin. “Thank you for being vulnerable with me.”

Wally lets go of your arm, and turns to face you properly. He reaches up one hand, and then hesitates, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours as if pondering a question.

Finally, Wally leans in and gives you a small, gentle kiss on the cheek. You inhale sharply, your arms hanging limply by your side and your fingers curling into questioning shapes. His mouth is plush and downy, and the impression of his lips sends a toasty-sweet feeling rocketing through your body.

When Wally pulls back, his yellow skin is dusted pink about his cheeks.

“Always know,” he says softly, “that I love you very much.”

Then, he’s leaving. You watch in stunned silence as Wally’s back retreats into the distance, making his way to join the throng of your neighbours. A slight rumble in the distance makes you look up: a cluster of thunderclouds gather at the edge of the Neighbourhood, fat with the promise of rain.

You touch your lips gently, and smile. Then, you retreat inside the safety of your home…with the warm memory of Wally’s kiss playing in your mind, and static still buzzing in your fingers.

[latenightdaydreams]

Hii i love your writing and was wondering if you could do king-eldritch!konig and human!reader(female)

I was thinking like maybe reader when to far in the beach and got kidnapped by king-eldritch!konig because he felt that reader is his mate and wanted her for himself but to complete the mating process they had to be intimate and he couldn’t do that because she had a human body

So he took her back to his kingdoms sea witch and had human!reader turn to a eldritch hybrid 🙀🙀🙀

Chat im fuming with this idea

-🧸

Hi! Thank you!! 🩷🩷

Eldritch!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List✍��

>cw: fem/afab, kidnapping, almost drowning

1.1k word count

🐙

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It’s a gloomy day at the beach, meaning few people are going to be there. You get dressed in your bathing suit with a small white dress over and walk down to the beach. Once there, you see a few older couples, so you walk down along the shoreline to the other end. The waves calmly roll in, the water feels cool over your feet. Unaware of eyes on you, you feel relaxed; a sense of tranquility washes over.

König watches you, not too far out from the shoreline. His curious eyes looking up and down the curve of your body. In all his time he’s seen plenty of humans, but you… you’re something spectacular. He follows you as you move. You’re totally oblivious to his presence.

You stop once you feel far enough away from everyone and take off your dress. The bikini you’re wearing barely covers any of your body. With slow steps, you walk into the water, letting your body get used to the temperature. You turn your gaze up towards the grey sky, enjoying the peace that surrounds you.

The tension in the air changes once you feel eyes on you. Slowly you look around, seeing if anyone is approaching the beach where you are, when you suddenly feel something on your feet. You jump back slightly and look down to see two tentacles inching their way to your ankles. When you look up, your eyes are met with two glowing eyes from under a black hood covering its face.

Fear washes over you as you notice the size of this creature. You’ve encountered octopus before, but never have you seen a creature like this one. Lifting your right foot, you attempt to step back, but the creature quickly grabs your leg. In a panic, you look around to see if there was anyone on the beach to assist you.

A tug and you fall on your back, a small pained groan leaves you. Before you can recover, the tentacles pull you into the water. Your fingers grasp at the sand and attempt to ground yourself and fight against it. Soon you’re forced to take a deep breath as you become fully submerged in the cold water.

König swims away with you, too tangled in his grip to break free. You aren’t a strong swimmer, yet you still try to swim away. The lack of air is getting worrisome, your thoughts turning dark as you feel this is how you die. Within a few seconds, you get light-headed before you eventually pass out.

When you come to, you’re lying on the rocky sand inside of a cave. Waves crash up on your feet as your eyes inspect the area. For a moment, you wonder if everything that just happened was a dream. Maybe you just slipped and floated out. That is until you look down at your legs and see the suction marks that cover your skin.

König reveals himself to you, he comes out from the water with a hood covering his face, only his eyes visible. He stands almost as tall as the cave, well over 15 feet, causing you to shiver in fear. His tentacles slithering to your body. They crawl up your legs and hold you down. You gaze up at him with wide eyes as he lowers himself down to get closer to you.

“Do not fear me, Kleine.” You hear a voice echo within your mind. “I’m König.”

His tentacles up your leg and pulls at the fabric covering your lower half. He pulls the fabric down to expose you to him. A low rumble leaves his body as his tentacles move up. You can feel his tentacle press against your pussy, causing your legs to twitch when he passes over your sensitive clit. He attempts to shove one inside of you, desperate to see every inch of you. A burning feeling happens, a pained wail leaves your lips as you close your eyes.

Once he realizes you’re in pain he withdraws. You’re too small. Your human body can’t take his size so there is no way you’d be able to carry his children like this. As he thinks, he caresses your body in an attempt to keep you relaxed.

“Es tut mir Leid, Kleine. I’ll fix this.”

“Fix what?” You say out loud.

The echo of his voice causes your head to ring with agony. Your hands go to the sides of your head, rubbing your temples in an attempt to calm your mind. König slips away back into the ocean.

You stand up and walk to the edge of the sand, looking out to see how far you are from the beach. As you gaze out across the water, you realize that there is no way that you could swim back yourself. The cave is deep, and you’re too fearful to explore further. Tears fall from your eyes as you sit in a fetal position.

Hours pass before you see the water moving. König beckons you near the water's edge. Hesitantly, you slowly stand and wipe the rest of your tears away. The small rocks under your feet are painful as you approach König.

A woman pokes her head out of the water next to König. She’s smaller, almost human size. Her skin is translucent and her eyes are almost a pale white. When she speaks, it causes goosebumps to form all over your body. The language is unknown to you but sounds like a calming melody.

Her cold hand reaches out and grabs you, pulling you closer to her. She looks deeply into your eyes, speaking in a soft voice, slowly lulling you into a trance like state. Inch by inch she pulls you into the water to join her. You aren’t in control of your body at this point.

In the water she brings you under, her word never stopping as she forces you to drink something. You take in the liquid as a full mouth of salt sea water. Your body struggles as your lungs attempt to take in a deep breath, but all you get is more water. This is how you die, drowning alone in the middle of the ocean. A sharp wave of pain travels throughout your whole being before you finally pass out, slowly drifting to the oceans floor.

 König watches over your body as you lie on a bed of soft plants, he made a while ago once he began his journey to find a mate. You look so beautiful, your new body is larger and will be able to take him and carry his offspring. While he is consumed with excitement and wants to wake you, he knows that the transformation took a lot out of you, so he just sits near and watches you. A small satisfied look on his face; finally, a queen.

[snaileer]

Dare to Live (Part 2/2)

DPxDC Part 1

It all started with a dare really. You’d think, after all these years, after having done at least a /bit/ of growing up, Danny would be able to refuse a dare from his best friend.

But here he was, about to drop through a mystic portal with full intentions to make Tucker eat his words.

And Sam too, for agreeing!

“Come on Danny, times a ticking, sands a wasting.” Tucker said in a sing song voice, floating behind the portal lazily.

“Yeah, Danny, we didn’t spend two days finding the perfect dimension just for you to chicken out,” Sam said, laying on her back in the air and pretending to inspect her nails.

Danny felt his eye twitch.

“I told you, Sam, he couldn’t be mysterious and mystical if he tried, even under pain of a double. Dog. Dare.” Tucker emphasized.

Danny whipped his head around, staring his best friend in the eyes, “You really think so Tucker? A double dog dare?”

Tucker smirked, leaning back with his arms crossed and a smug look, “I know so.”

“Then prepare to eat Lunch Lady’s hairnet, Tuck, you’re on!” Danny grinned and shot backwards through the portal.

He relished the way Tuckers face went green as he passed through. Well, greener.

Danny turned invisible the moment he felt the resistance of a dimensional barrier go past him, and boy was that the right decision, the whole place was in chaos.

Danny floated invisibly in the sky with a puzzled look on his face. Was that guy… flying? What in the-?

A laser beam passed through him, making Danny look down to see he was intangible, but why? Could he be tangible again? He focused, and yep, there he was, tangible and visible- visible?! Danny lost focus and disappeared again.

Hmm, okay so looks like his default state here is invisible and intangible but like even more so than back home, interesting.

Danny looked back at where the laser came from, surprised to see an entire ship behind him. And not like a pirate ship, oh no, not even a cruise liner, a big, bony looking alien ship.

Danny wanted to squeal! Aliens! This realm had aliens!

Calm down Danny, remember the dare, mysterious, mystical, think, what gives off big mystical vibes?

Ok, first off, royalty. Danny summoned his crown, ring, sword, and cape, ok good but what else?

Eldritch maybe?

Okay he’s already got fangs, and blue skin, he could probably let his hair be a little more free floaty, and he’s already a full grown adult with shoulders like his dad, that should be enough right?

Another laser shot through him.

Rude!

He looked back, surprised to see a group of people aiming weapons at the big alien ship. He looked closer.

Was the… was the alien ship trying to… to crush this city?

Were these…. bad aliens?

Noooooo, that meant he had to stop them! But he likes aliens!

Danny reluctantly reared up to punch the big ship, pausing when he saw how the other flying people were struggling against it.

Oh Idea?

Super-strength? Now there was mysterious and mystical.

He smirked, oh he had the perfect entrance!

Thank youuu Kingly strength.

Danny positioned himself in front above the ship then created a double actually touching the ship.

He let himself appear, keeping his double invisible as he held out a hand and then swiped it down, using the double to push the ship into the ground.

Luckily, as Danny had just noticed, the ship seemed to be floating just outside the main city area and most everything below it was already destroyed.

Err, well, it certainly was now.

He fought the urge to wince. Mystical powerful beings in the sky don’t wince, Danny.

Still, he looked around at all the destruction. He hadn’t been back in a human realm since his own life, and the destruction had been common place then too, in his own hometown at least.

This was… worse, much worse. He really had to hold back a grimace as he saw a couple ghosts start forming on the edges, he could feel that they were feeding off of his own ambient ectoplasm.

Yikes okay, maybe giving a source of brand new ectoplasm at the sight of a disaster was not the best idea but… he could fix this!

Danny held out his arms, calling the newly formed ghosts to him, letting them use him as a portal to the Zone.

And then he very quickly locked up his aura from releasing more. No one saw that right?

He stood there floating for a minute before he saw the blue and red flying man begin to approach him.

He smirked again, aw yeah time to see if it worked!

Danny lowered himself marginally to meet the man in the middle.

“I am Superman,” Weird name but okay, “Protector of Earth. Thank you for helping us. But…” Superman looked hesitant, “Who are you?”

Aw crap, okay think Danny, big dramatic name, do NOT blurt out your real one. Double dog dare, come on think of something, anything, you have been staring for way too long-

“I am High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms of the Eighth Dimension; The Great One, Feller of the Tyrant Pariah Dark, Tamer of Vortex, Conquerer of My Future Now Past, Keeper of Death and Life, Wielder of the Ring of Rage, Bearer of the Crown of Fire and The One True Balance.” Danny blinked slowly, hoping that was ‘mystical’ enough for Sam because ancients he was really running out of coronation titles there.

“You are well met Superman, Protector of… Earth.”

Hang on. Earth? He was on Earth? Not his Earth but really this was Earth? With Aliens?

He wanted this to be his Earth, dang it why did he have to get the boring ghost invested one?!!

The man looked like he wanted to back up by about thirty steps so.. it worked?

“And.. Your Majesty is here because…?”

Danny stopped his gentle float.

Uhhh. Uhh. Okay good reason, think of a good reason to be here. Visiting? No that’s dumb, it’s not a zoo. Uhh, curious, no that’s not mysterious enough! Okay mysterious, mysterious, think mysterious. OooOooooOo, MysTeRIouSssss.

Who does he know that’d be mysterious enough to pull this off?

…

Clockwork!

Okay, what would Clockwork say? Uhhhh

“You will find out all in due time, Superman of Earth,” Was that good? No that sounded threatening, “But for now, I am here simply to observe.” That was better right? Okay leave before he asks more questions.

Danny floated down to where the other colorfully dressed people stood in a semi-circle.

Well colorful and one in all black.

“Superman, who is this?” The one in all black said with a glare as he stepped forward.

Danny opened his mouth to recite the titles again, points for mystical-ness, when he was cut off.

“Batman, this is King Phantom of the Eighth dimension, he’s… visiting?”

‘Batman’ raised an eyebrow under his cowl, “Eighth dimension, is that at all related to your troubles with a certain fifth dimensional imp?”

Now Danny felt justified in being at least a little offended, “Watch your tongue, Man of Bats,” that was a sufficiently mystical naming right?, “Accuse me of being a fifth dimensional pest again and we shall see how long you last in no dimensions at all,” Danny paused, “Mortal.”

Ha, in your face Tucker, he was so good at this!

Tag list:

@blep-23 @theblackcatscratchpost @fylylowo @coruscateselene @breesperez139 @kataaitheskittle

[thegnomelord]

what if reader worried about speaking around the 141 boys because he worries what if his voice alone is too overwhelming for simple human minds to grasp and the sound of it alone could accidentally melt their brains into mush? Being finally comfortable to say a few words around them but still being hyper-aware of keeping his voice and all aspects of his form under control so nobody gets hurt.

Okay the absolute angst you could come up with this is astounding anon but also I'm in the need of fluff after a depression inducing exam sooo;

Imagine Calling Their Name For The First Time

CW:SFW, Fluff, Gaz, Price, Soap, Ghost x Eldritch reader (separate) slight hurt/comfort with Price, each part is roughly 600-700 words.

Imagine GAZ — As a cat, your presence used to help him sleep calmly on nights when his mind was hell bent on reminding him of his failures. Petting your belly or scratching down your spine while you laid on his chest gave his hands a mindless task he could succeed in, the sensation of your fur on his fingers just enough to keep him lucid and grounded when it felt like his bed wanted to swallow him whole. But now that you've revealed your true nature... things have changed.

He was the first one on the taskforce to trust you again; but make no mistake, it still took him months to stop jumping at shadows in the corners of his eyes. He still touches you, but it's different. Now his touches are contained to a pat on your shoulder or a small scritch under your chin when he thinks no-one's looking.

Even in the body of a cat you'd been silent as the grave, so he knows better than to force you to speak. Hell, he even offers an alternative after he sees how you struggle to express your thoughts through paper and pen: Sign language

It's a joint effort as he doesn't know it either, but you can't be mad at him when he giggles so sweetly every time your uncouth hands sign something ridiculous. It's hard to move your fingers with finesse when you've forced yourself in such a limited body and it translates to your language with it ending up bastardized and warped when compared to the real thing just as you are to reality itself.

On a night when his mind has run him ragged and chased away any hope of sleep, you find him on the roof of the base. He's easy to track when millions of your eyes dot the night sky; though you may be a god, you are so small you escape his notice as a storm of thoughts clouds his bloodshot eyes, not even the blanket you drape over his shoulders gets a reaction.

So like a young fool, you try something else.

Just like your sign language, just like you, the sounds escaping your throat are a distorted mockery of the real thing. What should be clean notes come out filled with whistles and chirps and the whispers of a million dead sacrificed to you over the millennia, each one speaking a fraction of a second out of sync to form a low and warbled "Kyle."

His name comes out like tar and sticks to the fabric of all that is, the air around you vibrating. He deserves far more than this, but it's the most human you can make yourself sound.

His head snaps to look at you, mouth agape and wetness around the corners of his eyes. For a second your nonexistent heart shreds itself into pieces thinking you'd broken him and you're ready to disappear into the blackness you crawled out of in an attempt not to harm him further; his hand stops you, pulls you by the front of your clothes so his sturdy hands can wrap around your body.

"Took your sweet time." He whispers so quietly even you need to strain your ears, burying his head into your shoulder. His rapid heart drums so hard against his ribs like it's trying to leap into your cold chest, and for a moment you can almost believe you have one of your own.

Against your better judgement you open your mouth again, speaking in just as quiet a voice as him, yet it still shakes every bone in his body. "You broken?"

He hugs you tighter. "Nah." Gaz gives a weak chuckle, squeezes his arms to check if you hadn't disappeared; that you're more solid than the dead men in his nightmares. "Keep talking to me, please? Say my name again, yeah?"

How can you refuse?

Imagine PRICE — At first, he doesn't know what to do with you.

Finding out the cat Soap and Gaz had begged his ear off into getting is actually some unspeakable god is one thing. Realizing he'd been letting said god use his tits pecs as stress balls and nap on them is a whole 'nother can of worms. Having to chastise a damn god about what is and isn't appropriate, let alone why trying to burry your head into his pecs in front of recruits isn't, is just down bizarre.

But he still treats you like any other soldier in need of guidance, he gives you structure despite the fact you, by definition, are structureless. He's strange like that, perhaps due to age, perhaps due to his asinine stubbornness, but he's a little more resistant to your existence than most. This lets him sit you down every week on the same day and try coaching simple words like 'yes' and 'no' and 'here' out of your throat, wearing ear muffs more for your sake of mind than protection.

Granted, you're as bullheaded as you are old, so most days he ends up talking with himself. But he considers it a small victory every time he manages to pull a word out of you.

Then your hubris makes a mission go to shit, because while you may be immortal in your human disguise, the three bullets in Price's chest that nearly kill him can attest he isn't.

Humans often speak of a god's wrath and they are right; you make a blackened hole out of the enemy base when you find him bleeding out, steel and stone bent into obtrude ways to ensure it may never be restored. You are lucky he's too exhausted to see parts of you burst out of your human back, tentacles of liquid abyss reaching through solid walls to grab the enemies and pull them down into the waiting jaws of nothingness. Not even a bug can save them from being erased from existence like they're drawings on a paper sheet...

But they hardly speak of a god's sorrow; you stay by his bedside while he sleeps, every inch of every surface of the room dotted by your eyes so you can make sure his chest continues to rise and fall in an even tempo, bearing your teeth at Death until it scampers off.

But it's still not enough with how regret claws at you, so you lean over to cover his body with your own, mindful of his sutures as you bury your head into his chest and let out all the words clogging your throat.

It's the tremble of his bones that finally wakes him, his eyes fluttering open to be met with a sea of maddening eyes across the ceiling staring back at him. But with exhaustion clouding his mind the incomprehensibility of the sight simply washes over and past him like a small wave, not even tickling his brain.

But your voice gains his attention, the soft saccharine croon in your voice, the little crackle of lightning in the bleakness behind each syllable vibrates every rib in his chest as you mutter something into his skin, like you're trying to pass a secret to his heart without him hearing it.

"Now what's that, Mittens?" He calls you the name he used when you were a cat, raising a hand to ruffle your hair. Your body hovers over his, enough to feel you against him but not enough to crush him. "Speak up, c'mon, ain't going to hurt."

You raise your head to look at him, his eyes are too blurred to see the gateways to oblivion yours have become, little drops of starry tears bleeding from the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for getting you hurt." You speak before you can even remember you shouldn't, "I'm sorry John."

He just chuckles as much as the stitches will let him. "Well look a' you." He slurs and kneads the muscles at the nape of your neck, hand trailing down to hook his fingers over the harsh edge where your back is still hollowed out like a rotten tree until he can feel solid nothingness press against his skin. "Only took me nearly dyin' for you to finally talking in full sentences." He draws in a sharp breath and pulls you by your back so you're splayed out on top of him fully. "Go on, purr for me some more."

So long as he forgives you, you'll speak until the whole world's gone deaf.

Imagine GHOST— Ghost is the most vary of you after you reveal what you are, he still is in a way. You can feel his eyes on you whenever you two share a space as if he's just waiting for you to drop the charade and turn monstrous, but at the very least his fingers don't twitch for the trigger of a gun each time you draw close.

He doesn't force you to speak, not when he's not much of a talker himself. A simple grunt or a shift of the eyes is all it takes for you to understand him and vice versa, he even learns a few simple words in sign language, though he doesn't acknowledge it when Soap calls him out for growing soft on you.

Because your control of your human body is amateurish at best, he pulls you into sparring frequently. Of course he won't admit that he likes the power trip he gets when he pins you down, even if he does mock your godhood in his deep baritone that makes something new churn in your stomach. And he pins you down frequently, your superior strength of little use when he knows better techniques.

Somehow, this time you manage to knock him down on his arse with only a little cheating on your part. He stares back at you and you grin down at him to the best of your ability, not quite right but close enough, and with a happy glow in your eyes you let out a short and quiet "I win." without even noticing, the air around you vibrating with the laughter of reality.

You freeze and it feels like the cold oblivion in your veins turns to ice, and Ghost uses that distraction to grip your shoulders and roll you over so he's on top of you. But this time something feels different; you can't read his mind like you do communicating with your kin, but you see the tenseness in his muscles, the stiffness in his shoulders, the dark look in his eyes like he's on a mission.

"I win." He growls, pushing all of his weight down to pin your shoulder on the ground despite you not struggling as he rests his hand on your throat with his fingers on your silent pulse points. "Now, say my name." He orders. "Go on, sing fer me."

You swallow and feel the tightness in your throat from the resistance of his hand. It's funny; he is like a fly to you, yet you're the one who feels small. "Ghost?" You warble out with just enough intonation to phrase it as a question, something echoing in the silence behind your voice like the crackle of flame and the snapping of old bones.

A shiver races down his spine as he feels the you wiggle and shift beneath your human suit, pushing against his hand as if to caress him through the thin separation of skin. It makes something hot burn in his chest, something primal demanding to feel this supposed god trapped beneath him; to taste twisted divinity and maddening oblivion.

"No, not that one." He growls, lifts his mask just up to the bridge of his nose and then leans down so his eyes are level with yours. "Say my name." His order is clear even as he mumbles it against your cold lips.

You breathe in his scent, the edges of your form rippling in and out like fog or a glitching computer in a desperate attempt to hold on to your body. You tilt your head so your lips brush against his, suddenly short of breath despite the fact you don't need to breathe. "Simon." You whisper and you can taste heat on your tongue with each letter, the ground beneath you shuddering.

You feel him smirk. "Much bettah." Then the hand on your throat is tilting your head up further and his lips descend on yours. Distantly you can feel a bit of your oblivion seep from the pores of your skin, dark abyss clutching him tightly as the sweet taste— of heat, of life, of Simon —steals your ability to think.

You suffer a thousand deaths when he pulls away, the air turning heavy like cement. A low warbled whine escapes your throat and Ghost just chuckles. "Say it again."

You do, you do it as many times as he asks, each word rewarded with a kiss that leaves your eternal mind blank like paper.

Imagine SOAP — You think he's gone mad when he's more bummed out about losing a cat than learning you're actually a creature beyond human comprehension that can destroy him with a blink. If anything, it's like he sees no difference between human 'you' and cat 'you'.

He's touchy and tactile, his fingers always lingering on your cold skin like he's trying to pass the warmth of life into you; his hand ruffling your hair after a job well done, his fingers feeling up your bicep when you work out, the little tap tap tap on your side when you and him cross paths in the hall, his possessive grip on your hip whenever some recruit gets too close to you.

And all the while he's yapping for the two of you, talking with you as if you'll answer only to continue speaking about some other topic a second after you remain silent. You let him because the sensation of his touch and the sound of his voice outweighs the annoyance you feel when he tries to pry words from your mouth.

Even after witnessing first hand what you can do, how reality pours through your fingers like wet sand, he's arrogant to think he can withstand what you are. He's worse when he's drunk, booze loosens the chains on his tongue and inhibitions and makes your Icarus to jump into your lap when you're reading.

"Now what's thaet for?" He slurs as he knocks the book out of your hand, "Thought yea was some all knowing dobber." He nearly makes you topple over when he winds his arms around your neck and pulls your head down until your noses touch, the scent of booze washing over your face.

He hopes to get a reaction out of you- even elephants swat away flies when they buzz in their ears long enough -maybe a curse or a harsh 'MacTavish' with how many mannerisms you've picked up from them; the only thing that makes it's way out of your hollow throat is a small hum of surprise, ringing like the inside of a dead planet and scrapping against his ears like an iceberg on the ocean floor.

Soap gives you an indignant huff like you've offended him, shifting in your lap until his knees are on either side of your hips, thick thighs caging you in on the couch as if something without true form can be contained. "What's thaet s'posed tae mean?" He tries to lean in but overshoots, bonking your foreheads together before nuzzling his nose into your hair. Under the veneer of standard issue bodywash and cologne he can smell something exclusively you, like the heat of a dying star and the cold of the void you spawned from.

You furrow your brows, worry gnawing on your stomach. You know alcohol is poisonous to men though you've seen them drink plenty of it, and Johnny is more out of it than usual. "You are drunk." Each letter crackles though the air like firecrackers, his hair standing on end as your words are warped by an accent of a language so ancient the earth is too young to know it.

"Nea I'm not." His brain is so drowned in booze your voice barely gets pop rocks to fizzle in his ears, but he wiggles his hips like a tempter and when you don't catch the hint he grabs your hands and places them on the curve of his arse. "'M nae as think as ye drunk ah am." He whines, pulling back to look at you with wide blown pupils before he grinds his hips down into your lap.

His name flies so fast out of your mouth it nearly sucks the air out of the room, "Johnny." the lights overhead flicker, your traitorous hands gripping his rear tightly. Your voice continues to echo after you've closed your mouth, each letter creating little pockets of nothingness in the space you share for a second before reality can fill them back up.

"That ah am." He grins like a child and bonks your heads together, placing a wet kiss on your cheek seconds before he passes out on top of you. You sigh and recline back into the couch, letting him use your shoulder as a pillow while he snores like a pig.

And, perhaps, you let yourself whisper his name a few more times...

[swordoffrivolousthings]

The gods in PJO are not godly enough, in my opinion

I will start this rant by saying that this is only one of my problems with the PJO series. I understand why Riordan has humanized them, I know this is a middle school age book series. But I am older and I want to make them freaky and strange and kind of eldritch. With little to no explanation as for my choices.

ZEUS. He is the Olympian king of the gods, god of the sky, weather, law and order, destiny and fate and kingship. He is the law, as any king is. Every word he says is godly law, every little order will be followed. He is the king. So, he is stone-faced, made of marble, with no expression other than thoughtfulness and severeness (even if he sometimes isn't). His eyes are pure lightning, the hurricanes that ravage the world and the gentlest of summer rains. Most days, when he speaks of future events, they tend to happen that way, if not overruled by a higher power. His very presence is the ozone layer being brought down, heavy, tiring mortals and demigods out quickly. He treads lightly, with steps like gentle patters of rain, but his every breath is thunder.

HERA. The goddess of marriage, women, the sky and the stars of heaven, and the Olympian queen of the gods. Marriage, despite her own being something less than aspiring, is sacred. Couples that marry are under her protection, she still blesses their marriages. She sky shifts with her emotions, getting darker and night starting to fall. Her himation worn over her head, the only garment visible, reflecting the sky above. Her eyes, two bright stars, seeing something more than human perception can begin to understand.

POSEIDON. Olympian god of the sea, earthquakes, floods, drought and horses. His body is not, just from the corner of the eye, made of muscle, bones and tendons. Water, swirling and moving in the shape of a man, the odd strand of algae. Then you turn and he is barely human, but not saltwater. The waves seek and tug at his heels whenever he walks along the beach. His eyes, oceanic tectonic plates crashing, sending tsunamis to devastate the world. The air around him is salty, sea air clinging to his skin. Algae appear in his wake, reeking of the sea.

DEMETER. Olympian goddess of agriculture, grain and bread who sustained mankind with the earth's rich bounty. In her wake, every step makes a grain sprout, growing tall and healthy, and nothing can take it down. The seasons are slowly blooming and booming in her presence, the spring more verdant, the summer hotter, autumn plentiful beyond measure and winter always frigid. From behind her ears sprout oats and barley, always young and vibrant green, crowning her in the coming bounty. Her eyes are the colour of wheat, and when the wind blows the shadows in her eyes move with it.

ARES. Olympian god of war, battlelust, courage and civil order. He is war, bloody and cruel, senseless, personified. His very presence makes fights break out, indignities and betrayals happen. He is an oppressive force that bring the bravery out of the people, along with all the hate. If he stays long enough in one place, even Olympus, war breaks out, be it civil or not. This is why he never stays in one place too long. He is luting for blood, but war had wearied him. He will not do the same mistake twice, even in war. His eyes are the open wounds of soldiers, bleeding, infected, dying skin and rotting meat.

ATHENA. Olympian goddess of wisdom and good counsel, war, the defence of towns, heroic endeavour, weaving, pottery and various other crafts. Every tapestry and pot and garment worked by hand that is not up to her godly standard shrivels and turns to ash in her presence, obliterated by her beyond-human perfectioned craft. Towns are instantly protected when she is there, good grace and godly favour. War, like Ares, follows her. It is not kinder, nor is it bearable. Calculated, cold, some would argue that her wars are crueler, sadistic. Eyes like garment fiber and shattered pots, blood covering them.

APOLLO. Olympian god of prophecy and oracles, music, song and poetry, archery, healing, plague and disease, and the protection of the young. The sun, a power passed on, burns under his skin. It is the worst in the summer months, when the sun is more preeminent. His music, lighting every room in shades of enticement, is otherworldly, his voice, be it in song or word, is a mastery of perfection. From his hands, a single touch can be salvation or sickness. His arrows, silver for his twin, always strike true, no matter the target. His presence brings prophecies and fates to light. The power of the sun is in his eyes.

ARTEMIS. Olympian goddess of hunting, the wilderness and wild animals. She was also a goddess of childbirth, and the protectress of the girl child up to the age of marriage. Around her sprout forests, wild and untainted, a world where humans could get lost in and never be found again. Wild animals prowl after her, protectors and friends of her hunters. When the night is darkest, a power inherited, her skin lights up, a moon to shine in the dark of the shadows. Her hunters, her girls, are protected and her wrath is painful and cruel, like her domains, and they are recognisable by their golden arrows.

HEPHAESTUS. Olympian god of fire, smiths, craftsmen, metalworking, stonemasonry and sculpture. Beneath his skin flames are visible, a moving part of him, like tattoos. Every piece of metal he works with, no matter how briefly, turns into beatiful and powerful tools, an art all of their own. His buildings are steady and everlasting, the stone protected by his touch. His eyes, the hammer hitting metal, are coloured in such a way that they resemble statue's eyes.

APHRODITE. Olympian goddess of love, beauty, pleasure and procreation. Born of sea foam and godly blood, the salt clings to her. Curls her hair and makes her glow, the power of the sea just under her perfect skin. Everyone finds something beautiful in the face of beauty. It is enchanting, a spell most can hardly exist. She is everything everyone could ever want, a goddess for everyone's taste. Yet her anger is born of the sea, a cruel and unforgiving sort of death. To make love dislike you is to lose it all in the blink of an eye. To disrespect a goddess means death.

HERMES. Olympian god of herds and flocks, travellers and hospitality, roads and trade, thievery and cunning, heralds and diplomacy, language and writing, athletic contests and gymnasiums, astronomy and astrology. He speaks in languages long lost, and his travel notes are written in queer glyphs and writing systems. Sheep like him, without doubt. The souls of humans clash and itch to follow him when he enters a room, beyond willing to be taken to the underworld. The stars illuminate his path, a road he knows by heart but they don't care. They will guide him, no matter what.

DIONYSUS. Olympian god of wine, vegetation, pleasure, festivity, madness and wild frenzy. Vines grow from his footsteps, water and seawater and nectar and any other drink turn to wine in his hand. Where he is, the frenzied, happy and drunk follow, a retinue of people that enjoy and enjoy and enjoy. There is nothing not to like at first glance, and only at first glance. When one looks closer, the insanity begins. It is like sparks in his eyes, a nonsensical word past his lips. When you look closer at the people, there is no happiness in the thaws of madness.

HESTIA. The virgin goddess of the hearth and the home. It does not make her kind, because the gods rarely are. It makes her steady, the fire in the home that keeps the chill away from making itself at home. The fire that lights the way back home, sacred in temples and to extinguish it is to forsake her favour. Homes she has blessed are cozy, full of love, of safety. It does not make them fireproof.

HADES. The king of the underworld and god of the dead. He, king over bones and lost memories. His wife, unnamable, his presence like the heavy hand of time on mortal shoulders. Bones and skulls and the wispy whisper of the lost are his retinue. Half decomposed corpses his servants and valets and butlers. His name, scorned, is never said but on the eve of the winter solstice, when death is the surest companion. His eyes, dark but brittle as bone, promise something any other god can't understand.

PERSEPHONE. Goddess queen of the underworld, wife of the god Hades. She was also the goddess of spring growth. Her presence brings with it the smell of the first flowers of spring, little by little making the world greener. But her steps are always silent, always just a little far from the ground. She is a queen, death is her and her husband's domain. Of course she is ghostly, terrifying. Her perfume is of freshly dug earth and autumnal rain, the weeps of widows and widowers, the death of the young and elderly. Her name is unspoken, a curse when invoked. You will not hear her name on Olympus, in mortal mouths. Kore, Despoena, her titles are safe. Her eye is not benevolent, when it's attention is captured.

[dilatorywriting]

The Prince & The Pauper Prefect

Gender Neutral Reader x Prince Stefan (Twst OC) Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: 'Dear Ramshackle Prefect, you are cordially invited to tour the Royal Sword Academy at your leisure. We hope our libraries may have something of use to aid in your journey home. And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’ Clearly, nothing about this could go wrong at all.

A/N: A commission for the very lovely @thefiasco-onyourblock. I'm having so much fun with all y'alls ideas, and this is one of the few that was asked to be public, so I'm happy you all get to see it! It was a lot of fun to dive back into this himbo~

You’d just stumbled your way back onto Ramshackle’s sagging porch after your second third fourth foray into this wonderful new world of Near-Death Experiences when the letter arrived.  It popped into existence in a pleasant burst of bubbles and sparks—a scroll of soft, cream, paper stamped with a shimmering wax seal that looked like it could have been melted down out of literal gold. You waved a hand under it, over it, all around the thing in grand loop-de-loop. The letter just kept hovering in place, occasionally spitting out another bout of multicolored sparkles.

“Hello?” you tried, cautious, and the thing crinkled at the corners. Like it was trying to wave back at you.

You glared up at the grey sky for a moment, daring whatever higher power existed in this stupid world to try fucking with you yet again, before reaching out to grab the ridiculous, magic, note.

It unrolled at your touch, like a cat stretching when you scratched along its spine. And instead of some horrible prank or wayward contract, you were greeted with an opportunity.

.

.

“POACHERS!” Crowley howled.

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “So can I go?”

“INTERLOPERS!” he forged onwards, waving the letter back and forth like a parent raging over a bad report card. “Who do they think they are?! Trying to swipe my most precious intern—student! My most precious and beloved of students!—out from under my nose?! As if I wouldn’t be able to see through something so—so—ACK!”

“I mean,” you grumbled miserably under your breath, “it is a pretty long nose. Could hide a lot under there.”

He turned on you with a gasp, like you’d just insulted his mother. Or… whatever the Headmaster’s no doubt vaguely evil and eldritch equivalent would be. 

“It’s a mask! A mask!”

He crumpled the letter petulantly between his clawed fingers and went to hurl it to the ground, but the paper smoothed itself out with another one of those magical ‘pops!’ and floated up on an artificial breeze to land neatly in your lap. Crowley sneered at the thing like he was planning to light it on fire, and honestly, with how strange and ethereal this little letter was, you sort of wanted to see him try.

“I think it’s a perfectly reasonable opportunity,” Professor Trein shrugged, unbothered by his superior’s usual nonsense.

“It’s not as if the Royal Sword Academy is known for their treachery,” Professor Crewel added, sounding a bit like the acknowledgement had to be yanked out of his mouth with a pair of pliers. He glanced your way for a moment with those narrowed, steely, eyes of his before turning that glare back on the old crow. “And in comparison, I don’t think any of us can truthfully claim that Night Raven has provided a particularly safe learning environment for the Prefect.”

Crowley sniffed, indignant. “A sprinkling of danger is all part of the educational experience!”

Trein sighed and Crewel pinched at his brow like he was fighting the start of a migraine.

“They’re just offering to let me look through their library archives for more information on how I could find a way home,” you tried, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Which would mean less work for you, you know.”

For a moment you could see the calculations whirling behind those glowing, yellow, eyes—the promise of entirely unearned vacation time and accolades for tasks he’d had absolutely bupkis to do with. But then the sharp line of his mouth hardened in determination and he turned away from you with a huff.

“We’ll discuss this betrayal of yours later—when my poor, old, heart has had some time to stitch itself back together!” he harumphed and you sighed miserably. Then he snapped his fingers with a little ‘ah!’ and turned on you with a perfectly sunny smile. “And of course there’s the VDC to plan for! Do get on that, my favorite, little, busy bee!”

Afterwards you stood in the little alcove outside of Crowley’s office, the golden letter clutched tightly in your fists. The soft edges of the scroll lifted to curl around your knuckles, like a gentle reassurance. Before you could work yourself up into getting too upset about the unfairness of it all, Professor Crewel placed a hand on your shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll drop you off Monday morning.”

You fought the tremble that was doing its best to turn your mouth into a wobbling mess, and turned to launch yourself into his furs with a crushing hug. The alchemist patted your back with a great deal of aggrieved grumbling, but he didn’t bother to push you away either, so he probably didn’t mind you creasing his coat as much as he said he did.

.

.

Your assurance that this was just a jaunt through the RSA’s library had been… mostly a fib. Or at least, deceptive in the same way that the sweeping, cursive, missive was also sort of sneaky. You’d dealt with enough genuine schemers at this point to recognize subtle promises woven into the words of the well-meaning.

‘And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’

You sighed and tucked the letter into your bag. It felt a bit wrong to be ducking away from your friends and your hovel of a home like a thief absconding in the night. But this was just… You were just looking. Spending a day away from the cloying, tarry, taste of pooling blot, and the endless runaround of all your little duties, and Crowley was not nearly the same as flipping your new friends the bird and fucking off into the sunset.

You repeated this to yourself ad nauseum as you pulled on your cleanest uniform, and then again throughout the entirety of the drive down the coast, and then more when Crewel waved you out of his car with a pointed look, leaving you at the RSA’s doorstep with a little shoo shoo gesture to get you moving.

Everything was so white. And not the gentle sort of lightness that came with nice things like fluffy sheep or foam off rolling ocean waves. It was sterile—so sharply bright in the morning light that it was nearly blue. The brick path beneath your feet was white, the guardrails lining the walkways were white, the walls of the looming castle, the impressive archways, the fluttering flags bearing the school’s regal coat of arms—all bone-bleached beneath the sun and shimmering like the architecture itself had literally been polished to a gleam. The only variation to be seen amidst the sea of monochromatic brilliance was the occasional pop of a cerulean spire—like some sort of awful party hat to top off the whole mess of it.

Say what you might about Night Raven’s gothic chic and whole ‘I mean, of course the cobwebs in the halls are Intentional’ aesthetic, but at least walking around the drab buildings there didn’t leave you feeling like someone had just set off a camera flash in your face. You felt like you were dirtying the roads by just existing near them. How did anything ever get done here without everyone having to constantly stop just to sweep up their footprints behind them?!

But such was the way of this dumb world apparently. Everything had to operate in extremes—nothing could just be normal. Real. It was all some fairytale recreation, varying only in if it fell hard on one side of the spectrum or the other.

You pulled out the letter with a sigh, and began roving over the contents yet again to see where exactly you were supposed to be headed. This whole fieldtrip turning into a miserable confirmation of your unintended loyalty to Night Raven or otherwise, at least you might be able to get some information out of these promised libraries.

You managed to cross a sweeping stone bridge, descend three separate flights of stairs, and follow nearly half a dozen signs with little, circled, stars on them before realizing you were probably only making things worse for yourself. You were still on one of those glistening, pearlescent, pathways, but now there were trees everywhere. It was a far cry from the twisting, black, forests smattered throughout Night Raven’s estate. Light filtered down pleasantly through the lush trees and the air was so nicely scented with flowers and pine that it was almost like someone had gone through with a bottle of Perfume de Forest and personally spritzed each and every plant. Which—ugh. Even the birds seemed to singing in tempo to some pre-orchestrated song. It was trippy.

But speaking of trippy—

You were so busy glaring suspiciously at a tree with a literal smiley face twisted into its bark that you didn’t notice the drop-off until it was too late. To be fair, it was still all very lovely—an overhang leading to a crystalline lake that bubbled gently under the roar of nearby waterfall. No jagged rocks at the bottom or anything. You probably wouldn’t even have to tumble all the way into the water, just into the little ditch about ten feet down. But of course, all that didn’t stop you from ‘eeping’ inelegantly in a panic as you stepped over the edge and started to fall.

And then you jerked back with a wheeze when something caught you around the collar of your uniform and tugged. You flailed wildly as you were hauled back up and into the air, and something behind you made a high-pitched, nervous, whinnying noise.

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy! Easy! You’re going to send all three of us over, you big baby!”

The huffing, angry, noises just got worse and you were dropped unceremoniously back on the pathway you’d wandered off from just in time to see a pair of hooves come crashing down precariously close to where you’d been dumped. You scurried back in a hurry, because you’d survived too much nonsense at this point to get taken out from something as mundane as a kick to the head.

The horse eventually got its singular braincell working well enough to realize it had to back away from the ledge, and you were finally able to look upon your savior without being too worried about taking a hoof to the face.  

He was clearly an RSA student, what with the garishly bleached uniform and impeccably put together everything. There was a crimson cloak tossed over one of his shoulders though, which did more to break the monotony of colorless brightness than any other architecture in the entire campus, so well done him you supposed. There was a sort of effortless attractiveness to everyone in this stupid world, but your new acquaintance in particular seemed to fall hard into that ‘windswept, accidental model’ sort of look, with loose brown hair falling in a neat fringe over his forehead, and wide, warm, hazel eyes. He looked a bit like the sort of person that a school might slather on all their recruitment posters to be like ‘see! We have jocks that know how to shower and brush their hair! Look how put together we are!’

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking down at you with a canted head—curious. “You don’t look a student here.”

“I’m not,” you sighed, making your way to your feet with a sore grumble. “I have an invitation. I’m just trying to find the Headmaster’s Office,” you said, holding out the letter like a hall pass.

“Oh!” He chirped, brightening. “I can show you the way,” He offered. “Not that I’m in trouble enough to know the way there by heart or anything, but I guess just enough that there isn’t too much of a chance that I’ll get the both of us lost,” he winked and you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. Normally this sort of overly familiar banter meant you were about to get dragged into all sorts of Shenanigans.

Before you could decide whether to take the chance or politely decline, his stupid, too big, horse reared its head back with a frustrated huff. Mister Red Cloak took the mini-tantrum in stride, despite the fact that the thing had nearly just clocked him right in the face with a head that looked as solid as a boulder.

“Oh, come now,” he sighed, patting the beast’s neck. “We can finish the course later. Don’t be a baby.”

The horse made some sort of unpleasant shrieking noise like some nightmare creature from just beyond the gates of Hell that had you flinching back to avoid being Murdered, but its rider simply rolled his eyes and tugged sharply at the reins.

“What do you think, huh? Just this once?” he asked, leaning forward over the withers to talk to the raging horse in its face. Like a lunatic. “For an extra bucket of oats? And maybe, just a few—” cue an absolutely horrendous eyebrow waggle, “carrots?”

And then the horse tossed its head back with a whinny that should absolutely not have sounded anything like a ‘hell yeah! Whatever you say, dude!’ before turning and prancing around you in tight, bouncy, circles. You scrunched in on yourself, because the thing was still probably a thousand pounds of muscle and flailing limbs. Even if it wasn’t actively huffing at you anymore, now it was just getting closer faster.

“You really don’t have to,” you tried. “Just point me in the right direction and I can find my own way.”

“Nonsense!” he chirped, dropping down from the saddle to land before you in the grass with a heavy thud. He brushed at his trousers, as if he wasn’t expecting his hands to come back completely clean. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on him. “What sort of savior would I be if I let you get lost in the wild and wonderful woods of this grand institution?”

“I can see the castle,” you griped, pointing to the blue peaks over the trees.

“Last I checked, you can see it from the entrance too,” he smiled and gestured to the forested path around you, chuffing a bit like he was laughing under his breath. “Must’ve been quite a turnaround, to wind up here anyways.”

Instantly you felt your hackles rising and a familiar, prickly, heat work its way up into your cheeks.

“Thank you, for your concern,” you grit out and swiveled on your heel. “But I guess even I should be able to find my way eventually.”

The pleasantly amused expression on the brunette’s face instantly fell and he darted back in front of you with a grimace.

“Sorry—that was. Sorry. I guess I put my foot in my mouth,” he rushed out. A gloved hand came up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You snorted and glared off into the trees.

“Now you really have to let me show you the way,” he laughed, stilted and bordering on too polite. “For making an ass out of myself like that. It’s the least I can do.”

You glared at him sourly for a moment before sighing and glancing back at the looming Andalusian still prancing along the tree line. “Will… that be coming with us?”

“Helios?” he asked, like you had any concept of what a ‘Helios’ was supposed to be. Probably the horse. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said, waving you off. “He can find his way back to the stables on his own. Right, boy?”

The horse made another one of those high-pitched, blustery, noises and you forcefully reminded yourself that you had faced inky goop monsters that were personifications of your classmates’ literal demons, and also kidnapping plots involving another of said classmates diving into your brain to rewire it like you were his own personal puppet. And in comparison to all those trials, Sentient Animals should not be creepy.

“Fine,” you huffed. “It’s fine. Just—let’s just get going.”

“Right!” he beamed, instantly bouncing back to his earlier enthusiasm. “I’m Stefan, by the way.”

You offered your own name in return, if only to be polite, and he smiled like the fact that you’d managed to grit out those familiar syllables was a gift in and of itself and not just, you know, generic introduction protocol.

“You have a lovely name,” he chirped, falling into step at your side.

You snorted, still a bit too bitter and sore. “You don’t have to try so hard to be nice, you know. To make up for saying something you feel bad about, I mean. It’s fine.”

His blinked his wide, hazel, eyes at you in way that looked a bit like you’d managed to surprise him. His eyelashes were long and soft, and they brushed against his cheeks with each shutter. Never trust people with nice eyelashes, you thought a bit petulantly. You’d known you were right to be cautious.

“You think I’m just saying that because I feel guilty?” he asked, not sounding particularly incredulous or insulted so much as genuinely curious. He tilted his head at you and some of his fringe slipped in front of his eyes, softening the sharp lines of his face. “Do people normally do that?”

You didn’t quite frown at him, but it was a close thing. You could feel your brow pinch.

“…I guess,” you huffed after a long moment, turning to stare back at the path ahead.

“Huh,” he mused, thoughtful. “Well, I really did mean it. And it’s a lot better than my name by far. I mean, really, Stefan? A bit on the nose, don’t you think? ‘Crown?’ Come on. Couldn’t my parents have been anymore original?”

You glanced over at him, a bit lost. “What does that mean?”

“Stefan?” he repeated with another one of those eyelash-sweeping blinks. “It means ‘crown.’”

“No,” you sighed, long suffering. “As in, how is that unoriginal? It’s a nice name.”

“Well, it’s because I—” he trailed off, gaze lingering in open astonishment. After a long moment of gaping at you like he’d just been clobbered across the back of the head with a baseball bat, he finally cleared his throat and looked back off into the trees with a tight shrug. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything I guess. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed to chew on that train of thought for a moment or two longer before turning back to face you with a wide grin that was just on the right side of smug. “You think it’s a nice name?”

“Whatever,” you huffed, cheeks starting to heat with something other than bitter chagrin. “Just please get me out of this forest before I fall over another cliff.”

.

.

Headmaster Ambrose the 63rd (the sixty-third! What in the nepo-nonsense was that?!) looked like a wizard straight out of some homey after-school-special, with silver spectacles perched on his rounded nose and a soft, pointed, cap atop his head that flopped endearingly at the tip. He was an antithesis to Crowley in every sense of the word—flowing robes replacing tight vests and formal wear, faded white accents rather than sharp black, and not a single bit of Sparkling Flair to be seen. Like everything else, as nice as he seemed, it was such a stark jump into the opposite direction that it had your hackles raised in caution.

“Our libraries are some of the most extensive in the country,” he smiled, warm and fond. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle behind the rims of his glasses. “I hope you’ll be able to find something that may be of some help to your situation.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, fighting the insane storybook urge to do something like curtsy.

He waved you off with a gentle shake of the head. “None of that ‘sir’ nonsense. You’re a guest a here! I hope my students have been treating you well?”

Stefan rubbed at the back of his neck and shot his headmaster a sheepish smile that was entirely, unfairly, handsome.

“Doing my best, sir.”

“Good lad,” he hummed, something nearly mischievous sparking in those blue-grey eyes of his. But you were hesitant to label it anything of the sort now that you’d seen what real sneaky nonsense looked like. This was more like… Children’s Program Mischief. That kind that usually involved an adult thinking themselves very clever for being able to sneak some vegetables into an afternoon snack. He turned back on you with that shining smile. “Allow me to find you an escort for the afternoon, and then we can get off to the library.”

“I’d be happy to show them around!” Stefan piped in.

“Is that so,” Ambrose mused, that same little grin playing over his mouth. “I thought you were meant to be in Equestrian Studies at the moment, hmm?”

“Well, I mean,” he spluttered, before collecting his argument and squaring his shoulders with another one of those blindingly bright smiles, “how could I possibly have left someone in need to fend for themselves, sir? I would have brought shame down on this entire institution! Heroes are meant to be made not born, after all!” He boomed, like someone cheering a school’s motto at a sports game.

All of this sounded like the largest crock of self-aggrandizing bullshit you’d ever heard, and by the time you’d had a whole internal debate with yourself over the merits of NRC’s outright nastiness versus this… whatever it was supposed to be, Ambrose was gesturing between the pair of you and saying something that you probably ought to be being paying attention to.

“Thank you, sir!” Stefan grinned, and Ambrose waved him off in that same pleasant way he had you earlier.

“You’re in excellent hands, Prefect,” the Headmaster assured as you were rushed out the door by the guy who was clearly going to be your newest Problem. “Take care! And please let me know if there’s anything at all that we can help you with.”

And then you were back out in the hallway, with Stefan already steering you towards who knew what. The archives, you hoped. But knowing your luck, probably not.

“You must be hungry, right?” he asked, perfectly polite. “Why don’t I take you to the cafeteria before we head over to the library?”

“I’m fine,” you said, just as your stomach gurgled a very loud complaint. You patted at your traitor of an abdomen in a silent reprimand and sighed, “You can just show me the way. I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me the whole day.”

“Nonsense,” he beamed, intertwining his arm with yours and tugging you off down another hallway before you could protest. He was so tall, and it should have been hard to keep up with his longer stride, but it wasn’t. “I like spending time with you.”

“What?” you blinked, thrown. Because maybe you’d hit your head or something, but you were pretty sure the last half hour had consisted of very little other than you being grumpy and unpleasant.

He canted his head to look down at you and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“You’re nice to talk to,” he said. “Honest, I think. Would be the best way I could describe it. Genuine.” His hazel eyes went a bit distant, wistful. “There aren’t many people here like that. It’s different. Good different,” he promised, the corners of his smile tugging into something a bit teasing.

Your gaze tracked down to the brilliantly blue carpet beneath your feet and then around to the perfectly white walls. Other students filtered by in their starched uniforms and shiny, black, dress shoes—all impeccably groomed and all chattering idle nothings about the weather, about classes, exams. You could see the muddy imprints from your boots trailing along the floor and a few errant bits of grass fell in clumps from where they were still tangled up in your shoelaces. Something tight in you eased a bit at the mess, and you turned back to your companion with a sigh that was bordering far too close on ‘begrudgingly fond’ rather than the properly ‘put upon’ you were aiming for.

“If you say so.”

You hadn’t thought it was possible for the guy’s smile to get brighter, but somehow he managed. You squinted into the warmth of it with a strange, squirmy, feeling in your stomach that you didn’t think had much to do with being hungry.

“Come on then!” he beamed, tugging you along. “We don’t want to miss the Feast!”

“Feast?” you echoed, incredulous.

“With dancing silverware and everything,” he mock-whispered, like a secret just for the two of you.

“What the fuck,” you gaped, brain immediately latching onto the most ridiculous aspect of all of it. “How do you eat anything if it’s dancing?”

Stefan threw his head back with a roaring laugh that had you wanting to sink into your collar with your shoulders hunched up to your ears. But no one stopped to stare, or point, or snicker into their palms at his open enthusiasm. There were a few curious peepers, but once they seemed to identify the source of the noise, they all went back to wandering the halls in their perfectly pressed uniforms with nary a sly comment or sneer to be seen.

“See?” he beamed, tilting sideways to knock his shoulder against yours. “Honest. Now come on—we don’t want to miss out on all the grey stuff. It tastes way better than it sounds, promise.”

.

.

The pair of you entered the cafeteria right at the start of things, with dishes and forks just beginning to fly overhead in waves of strange, blinking, lights and motes of golden sparks. More than a few people waved at Stefan as he walked in, and he returned the greetings with polite, buoyant, ones of his own before herding you to an empty table off to the side.

“You don’t want to sit with your friends?” you asked, brow pinching in confusion.

“Hmm?” he mumbled around a spoonful of something already shoved in his mouth. There wasn’t any kind of plate in front of him, so he must have snatched it right out of the air. He swallowed and reached up to grab another. “Oh, no. That’s fine. Here! Try this!”

You leaned away from the spoon he held up to your lips with a huff and some obligatory complaints about how ‘you could feed yourself just fine, thank you very much.’ You plucked the bit of silverware from his fingers with a wary frown and very tactfully ignored that lingering, fluttering, warmth in your gut that you still hadn’t managed to completely snuff out.

“Is this… grey stuff?”

“Right on the money,” he winked, leaning forward to snatch up another flying fork. “My family’s not usually a fan of more ‘modern’ cuisine, so it’s always a treat to be able to try all the different foods at the Feasts here.”

You looked hesitantly at the goopy mess of monochromatic paste smeared across the spoon, and then back up at Stefan who was casually digging into his own floating mountain of toxic waste with an absolutely enraptured hum of satisfaction.

“Remind me to buy you a grilled cheese or something…” you muttered under your breath, before bravely swallowing the entire spoonful of sludge. And—huh. That was actually… pretty delicious. How weird.

You spent the rest of the luncheon event picking at random bits of floating foods as they danced by. Occasionally Stefan would lean forward to point out his favorites and give recommendations. He was surprisingly observant, despite whatever initial impressions his jock’s jawline and guileless grins may have led you to believe otherwise—taking easy note of the things you pushed aside and the ones you nibbled at more enthusiastically.

“Oh—you missed the desserts,” he lamented as the last remnants of a picked apart pie flew over your head.

“That’s fine,” you said, but he only shook his head and began to drag you off again with another of those brilliant grins.

And so began a weird sort of pseudo treasure hunt, where Stefan would take your hand and haul you off to some random corner of the castle with promises of whatever seemed to strike his fancy, or more accurately you supposed, whatever he seemed to think you might fancy.

“No one really uses this vending machine anymore, but somehow it always restocks and it has the best ice cream bars I’ve ever had. It’s wild! I’m sure you’ll love it!—“

“Oh, it is pretty cold down here, right? I didn’t even think about that. But… hmm… Here! I know the best place to grab a hot chocolate! It’s just over this way a bit—“

“These walls are kind of a drab view, yeah? Here! If we go down this way there’s a great little area to sit where you can see the whole bay—“

By the end of things, somehow you ended up back at the stables with that terror of a horse of his. And despite the runaround and the vaguely exhausting fact that Stefan’s social battery never seemed to wear itself out ever, it wasn’t… it wasn’t that bad, actually. Sometimes people would wave him down to talk, and he always introduced you and left the proverbial door open for you to join the conversation, but never asked you to participate, which was nice. You’d taken to just sort of slouching against his side in a food coma like a lizard on a rock as he answered whatever mundane questions all the other students asked of him. But otherwise, it was just the pair of you bopping around all over the campus.

Helios saw his master and whinnied merrily, and Stefan made an odd sort of chuffing noise in return that had you laughing into your palm.

“What?” He complained good-naturedly. “You’ve never barked at a dog before? It’s the same thing!”

“Of course it is,” you droned, lips twitching up at the corners.

The next destination was someplace on the coast that he was insisting was the absolute best place in the world to sit and think. Which if you wanted to do research, naturally you needed to get your head together about where to start, right? The only problem was that it was a solid hour hike away, but Stefan assured you that on horseback it was a much shorter journey.

You leaned forward on your tiptoes to get a look down the sprawling corridor of stalls, each larger and grander than the last. And each of their occupants following that exact same trend. There even looked like there was a horse with wings, which was—ah. Not helping the intimidation factor, to say the least.

“You can ride with me,” he offered. “If you’re uncomfortable, I mean. Sometimes it helps to feel like there’s someone more adept at the reins.”

You blinked, a bit taken aback that he’d picked up on your discomfort so easily. But then then you focused on the rest of that offer and you and the horse shared a Look. And wasn’t that a trippy thing to notice. You immediately forced yourself not to think about it.

“I don’t know if that’s fair to Helios,” you pointed out.

“Nonsense!” Stefan waved you off, and Helios pinned his ears indignantly. “He’s an Andalusian. They’re war horses, you know? Built to be as sturdy and strong as any horse can be.” He said the last part with a sickly-sweet uptick to his voice, and leaned up against the beast’s flank like they were sharing an inside joke. “They say Prince Phillip’s legendary steed was an Andalusian, and they rode into battle against a dragon together.”

Helios’s grey muzzle twitched prissily and eventually the horse lowered his great head to thump against Stefan’s side with a gusty ‘harumph’ that had the man stumbling forward with a pleasant laugh.

“There you are, you big baby. I knew you had it in you.”

After giving the horse a firm pat pat on his rump, Stefan turned and offered you a hand.

“It’s easier if I help you up first,” he explained.

“Isn’t there like… a ladder, or something?” You tried, and Stefan grinned sneakily before ducking behind you and hauling you up on Helios’s back all in one go. You absolutely, positively, did not squeak, or anything else ridiculous like that. It was a—a squawk! The most indignant and put upon of noises!

Stefan laughed and waved off whatever terrible sounds you were making with a bemused ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ that was the absolute least apologetic thing you’d ever heard. And then he was swinging himself up near effortlessly into the saddle behind you and looping an arm around your waist.

“Sometimes it’s better to just get it over with,” he explained in your ear, like your brain hadn’t just absolutely Blue Screened at the new weight along your hips. “Like ripping off a bandaid. I know it can all be sort of intimidating for people who aren’t used to being around horses.”

When you didn’t respond, because you were still trying to sort cognizant thoughts of the mess of ‘!!!’ that was hard at work blotting out the rest of your brain, you felt him start to shift a bit behind you. His hands flexed a bit tighter, as if the idea of you not being secure enough in the saddle was in anyway the problem here. After another moment of your continued silence, Stefan leaned forward carefully to hook his chin over your shoulder and spoke in that same carefully polite way he had when he’d worried he’d insulted you all those hours ago in the forest.

“If you’re still uncomfortable I can get you down if you want,” he offered, voice dipping low in something that sounded like hesitance. “I know I—I mean, you don’t have to go riding with me, if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be…” He cleared his throat, and you must have been going delirious because out of the corner of your eyes you swore you could see the tips of his ears turning pink. “I can… I can just take you to the library now, if you want,” he said. “I know I’ve already been pretty selfish with your time today.”

Helios shifted to stamp his feet and you twisted your fingers nervously into his mane. You really didn’t feel entirely great about being so high, on something so wild and big. And honestly, you had wasted a lot of time sightseeing with your impromptu tour guide. If you were being in anyway rational, you should demand Stefan dismount and take you to the library like he promised. But all the same… Today had been—all of it had been…

“Just don’t let me fall,” you huffed, fighting the urge to duck your chin down into your collar to hide the rising heat in your cheeks.

“Of course not!” Stefan beamed, straightening himself back up so suddenly that he nearly tipped the both of you from the saddle. You sent him a glare over your shoulder and he laughed, loud and boisterous. “Sorry, sorry. From here out starts the ‘of course not.’ That was just a test run.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, letting him maneuver your hands to better hold the reins alongside his.

Naturally, by the time you got halfway to the beach, Stefan remembered that the library closed early on Mondays, and that you’d well and truly missed your opportunity as you’d been off gallivanting with him and his ridiculousness all day.

But you know what? It was fine. You’d just come back tomorrow. And maybe the next day too.

.

.

[helpmeimblorboing]

I love imagining a future version of PJO where all the Big Three kids grow to become even more threatening than their godly parents - like eldritch abomination levels of intimidation

Imagine a Percy Jackson who’s the lord of the Under-sea, all the things that lurk and crawl along the seafloor. With long, stringy hair that drips perpetually with dark, brackish water, and eyes that are less a comforting sea-green and more the sickly glare of an anglerfish’s lure. With teeth filed into points and skin paler than paper, webbed with black, sickly-looking veins

Imagine a Nico Di Angelo who’s the Keeper of the Dead, resembling a corpse more than a human, skin tinged with the blue of an asphyxiated body, eyes bloodshot, pupils blacker than midnight. Hair matted and stringy and mussed about his shoulders, frame scrawny as a scarecrow, body frail with malnutrition and yet carrying unmistakable power. And at his feet pool his faithful shadows like pet dogs, dark eyes blinking amidst the pooling black, tendrils of darkness reaching out like pseudopodia

Imagine a Thalia Grace who’s the Daughter of the Sky, with eyes like a thunderstorm, dark and foreboding, lightning crackling against her skin as she moves, hair streaked with white and blue and gray and all the shades of a storm-cloud about to blow. The bracelet of Aegis about her wrist, less like a piece of jewellery and more like a shackle keeping her in place. Her skin dark and buzzing with static electricity, stinking of ozone and petrichor

[peachsequence]

👁‍ Eldritch Horror Prompts 👁‍

Random Prompts

The shadows twisted and writhed with a life of their own.

Whispers came from the corners of the room, speaking in an ancient tongue.

A sense of dread seeped into my bones, creeping up from the darkness below.

The walls seemed to pulse and breathe, as if the building is alive.

In the distance, a distorted figure danced with impossible grace.

The sky was a swirling mass of colors.

A faint, otherworldly hum filled the air, growing louder.

The ground beneath my feet collapsed as I fell into the void.

Sentence Starters

“Do you hear that? The whispers—they’re calling my name.”

“There’s something in the darkness, watching us.”

“The shadows... they move when you're not looking.”

“I’ve seen things that defy all logic and reason.”

“We were never meant to find this place. It’s waking up.”

“Wait, shut up and listen. Do you hear chanting?”

“Every step we take, it feels like we’re being pulled deeper into its grasp.”

“Don’t look directly at it. It sees you when you look.”

“The stars... they’re shifting?”

“I can feel it in my mind, scratching at my brain."

“We need to leave this place before it consumes us.”

“The ground beneath us... it’s breathing.”

Vibes

Portraits with melted faces

A library that smells like old books

Messy notebooks filled with strange symbols

Insomnia-filled nights

Cracked mirrors reflecting otherworldly scenes

Echoes of distant, haunting chants

Shadows that slither and crawl

Forests where the trees seem to whisper

Abandoned ruins covered in cryptic runes

Late night conversations that ramble into conspiracies

Twisted hallways leading to illogical locations

Ancient tomes bound in unknown skins

Walls that seem to breathe and pulse

Clocks that tick backwards

Murmurs from beneath the floorboards

Strange lights flickering in the fog

Seas of black water under a starless sky

Marble sculptures that shift when unobserved

Something deep in the ocean, waiting patiently

[trippygalaxy]

My Opinion on the LU Boys DND Classes

as a DM of 3 years and a enjoyer of dnd for MUCH LONGER, i have so sososos many thoughts on what classes the boys would be. This will also include subclasses CAUSE ITS MY POST AND IMMA DO WHAT I WANT! /LH SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!

Time -> Fighter, Eldritch Knight

Twilight -> Barbarian, Path of the Ancestral Guardian

Warriors -> Fighter, Battle Master

Sky -> Paladin, Oath of Devotion

Wild -> Ranger, Gloomstalker

Legend -> Wizard, Bladesinging

Hyrule -> Warlock, The Celestial

Four -> Fighter, Echo Knight

Wind -> Rogue, Swashbuckler

Taglist cause I know somepeople were interested! @catreginae @next-hero-in-line @unexpectedstormy @nancyheart11 @majorproblems77 @ladye-zelda @ajscico @mishwanders @violetregrets1837 @1dragon-mustard1

Under the cut will be explanations as to why i picked these classes! (as well as the official descriptions of the subclasses for context)

Time, The Eldritch Knight

Subclass Description; They focus their study on two of the eight schools of magic: abjuration and evocation. Abjuration spells grant an Eldritch Knight additional protection in battle, and evocation spells deal damage to many foes at once, extending the fighter's reach in combat. These knights learn a comparatively small number of spells, committing them to memory instead of keeping them in a spellbook.

--

Fighter is a go to for all the boys, but I think Time is a perfect fit for the class as he is shown time and time again to be a frontline fighter. He's quick to draw his sword and quicker to swing it.

Though Time is not a heavy magic user in the LU comics, he is known to have quite a few spells/magical abilities in his games and comics! Many of these abilities are defensive or to deal with large 'groups' of enemies at once, which is what Abjuration and Evocation spells are used for -respectively. The Class is still heavily rooted in melee rather than magic -like Time- but the magic they do use is to add a extra kick to their punch.

There are also abilities that make the Eldritch knight much harder (if not impossible) to disarm!

In higher levels, the subclasses allows the user to be more effective and quick with their spell casting who their actions are free for melee attacks, which would be a perfect fit for the quick and preciseness Time uses in battle.

Twilight, The Barbarian of Ancestral Guardians

Subclass description; Some barbarians hail from cultures that revere their ancestors. These tribes teach that the warriors of the past linger in the world as mighty spirits, who can guide and protect the living. When a barbarian who follows this path rages, the barbarian contacts the spirit world and calls on these guardian spirits for aid.

--

Barbarian is a common pick for Twilight as it is the most strength based class and while I agree with it always never quite sat right with me due to the violence the class is stereotyped to lean towards.

The subclass itself was picked because I connected it with not only the Hero's Shade but also the light spirits that Twilight encounters on his journey. Its very much a spirit heavy class that deals with a lot of themes regarding 'guardian' like figures which fit perfectly for the 'guardian' spirits Twilight runs into -and is trained by- during his adventure. I also choose this one because of how defensive it is, especially when it comes to protecting others!

Twilight is a protector, in the LU comics, in his games, in his manga, he is shown time and time again to protect others so to have a subclass to reflect his protective nature is a perfect match for his character!

Warriors, the Battle Master

Subclass Description; Those who emulate the archetypal Battle Master employ martial techniques passed down through generations. To a Battle Master, combat is an academic field, sometimes including subjects beyond battle such as weaponsmithing and calligraphy. Not every fighter absorbs the lessons of history, theory, and artistry that are reflected in the Battle Master archetype, but those who do are well-rounded fighters of great skill and knowledge.

--

Another fighter! Like I said for Time, this class is very much a 'go-to' class for any and all of the LU boys! But warriors fits so well for this class, a undeterred and seemingly never ending energy in a fight, Fighter fits perfectly!

I think that we all can agree that Warriors is one of the top 3 swordsmen in the group, his way with his sword is unlike the others as he holds an elegance and swiftness that can be rivalled by very few. The Battle Master subclass is built upon the idea of 'Yeah, you can try to hit me but get ready for your shit to get rocked.' It is about countering, using the enemies weaknesses to your gain and getting your hits in whenever you can.

A Captain in a war would be a battle master without a doubt!

Sky, Paladin of Devotion

Subclass description; --They hold themselves to the highest standards of conduct, and some, for better or worse, hold the rest of the world to the same standards. Many who swear this oath are devoted to gods of law and good and use their gods' tenets as the measure of their devotion. They hold angels – the perfect servants of good – as their ideals, and incorporate images of angelic wings into their helmets or coats of arms.

--

Is...Is this a surprise to anyone? A little cliche yes, but how can you blame me when it suits him so well!

First, Divine smite? PERFECT for the Skyward Strike, without a doubt and I don't think theres anything that could fit it so well! A mighty strike blessed with divine power and -depending on what spell/ability- can shed a great amount of light and cause lightning/thunder to burst from the strike! There is also abilities with the subclass that makes your weapon a beacon of light for a short period of time

Sky is devoted to many things. But its obvious hes devoted to his Zelda -the reincarnation of Hyila, a goddess- so much so that before he knew of her divine spirit he was willing to head into a world unknown just to look for her. He is so devoted to her and Skyloft that he fought a GOD to keep everyone he loved safe and sound.

Wild, The Gloom Stalker

Subclass description; Gloom stalkers are at home in the darkest places: deep under the earth, in gloomy alleyways, in primeval forests, and wherever else the light dims. Most folk enter such places with trepidation, but a gloom stalker ventures boldly into the darkness, seeking to ambush threats before they can reach the broader world.--

--

Since TOTK I feel like this would be fitting for the hero to be proficient in fighting in the darken places of the world. The name of the subclass is also suits him considering a huge part of the game -The Gloom- is apart of this class in a way.

Ranger is a great class for Wild, it is the definition of a hunter, an explorer, one that finds there own path in the wildness. Wild, though seen to get lost in the comics, has a great understanding of his Hyrule and its geographic locations and terrain, both surface and depths. He is also a great archer, and a even better hunter!

The hero is a survivor of the wilds, and Rangers are the best suited to do such a thing

Legend, The BladeSinger

Subclass Description: Bladesingers master a tradition of wizardry that incorporates swordplay and dance. In combat, a bladesinger uses a series of intricate, elegant maneuvers that fend off harm and allow the bladesinger to channel magic into devastating attacks and a cunning defense.

----

Legend is one of the more magically inclined Heros, and though thats mostly through his artifacts and magic items that doesn’t take away the fact that the hero has a broad knowledge when it came to magic.

I picked bladesinging specifically because while it’s main focus is magic it still uses the sword and it’s connection to ones-self. Legend is still a fighter at heart so i don’t think he would toss away those skills in this situation. He is shown in a few panels to have some sort of connection/bond to the mastersword and likely his own weapon, so it was important for me to somehow intertwine his two biggest skills together.

And a bit selfishly, i think he would look very very cool dancing around with his sword-

Hyrule, The Holy Warlock

Subclass description: Your patron is a powerful being of the Upper Planes. You have bound yourself to an ancient empyrean, solar, ki-rin, unicorn, or other entity that resides in the planes of everlasting bliss.

---

I know most people would make Hyrule either a wizard or nature based magic user but in all fairness, I dont think Hyrule is one to learn magic by the traditional means (reading/studying it). This isn’t to say the kid isn’t capable of doing so, but with the whole “hero of Hyila,” you’d think there would be a bit more a divine connection there.

Warlocks make deals, pacts, with some sort of higher being for their magic intentionally or not and Hyila ,a holy celestial, being fits perfectly to be his patron. The magic granted to a celestial warlock is based on a clerics abilities, healing, protecting from the undead and fiends, lighting a path etc. Warlocks also are also a little more focused on melee/combat and if picking the right pact boon, can have a special relationship/connect to their sword!

Four, The Echo Knight

Subclass description: Echo knights harness fading shades of unrealized timelines, pulling a shadowy duplicate of themself called an "echo" to fight by their side. The echoes are somewhat fragile, but the echo knight can summon another at any time.

--

Okayokayokay— HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE!!!

One of the echo knight’s main abilities is being able to make shadowy versions of themselves to fight alongside them in a battle. These shadows or ‘echoes’ are an extension of the person’s form/soul and are able to communicate and aid the original knight. They are able to project their consciousness into these shadows to get the information they have seen/witness and collects it all once they all fuse back together.

TELL ME THAT AINT PERFECT FOR FOUR!!!

Wind, The Swashbuckler

Subclass Description: You focus your training on the art of the blade, relying on speed, elegance, and charm in equal parts. While some warriors are brutes clad in heavy armor, your method of fighting looks almost like a performance. Duelists and pirates typically belong to this archetype. A Swashbuckler excels in single combat, and can fight with two weapons while safely darting away from an opponent.

--

….i feel like this is pretty straightforward as to why i picked this for Wind.

Wind, shown to be quite a sneaky Link in his games, is probably the most rogue like in the Chain. He’s a strong kid, but he specializes in quick strikes and keeping his opponents on their toes and unexpecting. He is also, very clearly, a pirate! So it isn’t surprising for the hero to have one of (if not the only) pirate theme-d subclass! The class is very agile, but the subclass specifically is focused on disarming, ‘backstabbing’ and overall being sneaky in plain sight!

And thought i do think this is a great fit for the hero, i could also see him as a Storm sorcerer, which was my second pick!

UHHHH! YEAH THATS IS! if you're reading this, thank you so much for listening to me ramble and if you have any ideas/thoughts of your own i would LOVE to hear them!!!

[machveil]

hey, brief apology, I sent an ask about a monster!Konig blurb that got a dirty and then realised you dont write that kind of thing so im rewording it

monster!Konig being initially very shy and not liking when m!reader touches his tentacles, but he grows to appreciate the touch over time as he starts getting used to m!reader, to the point of holding his hand with a tentacle gently

oh!! hi anon! I saw that ask - don’t worry, I do write for nsfw and nsfw adjacent(?) content. I just haven’t written anything for it yet haha, but no sweat! I just don’t write for these, your other ask is totally good<3

it’s known around base that Monster!König has an… unusual physique. he kept it hidden for as long as he could, but it was bound to be found out when you’re constantly surrounded by soldiers and snoopy people - stupid rookies that like touching things that aren’t theirs. that’s how König’s tentacles came to light, one stupid rookie dared to snag the behemoth’s mask

Monster!König, while a feared and respected Colonel, held some insecurities around his tentacles. who wouldn’t be be terrified of a 6’10”/~208cm man, let alone a man with writhing, eldritch tentacles? he’s either scared off fellow soldiers or had others try to mock him - the latter not ending in their favor

but when you come up to him? wide eyed and awed? Monster!König is weary, a man like yourself should know better than to get close to him… or if this is a ploy to make a fool out of him? you’d be a brave example to anyone else trying to play with him, “You better run back to your friends, kleiner Mann.”, voice low as he walks past you

but does that deter you? of course not, a brave little thing. your efforts start small - an attempt to break past Monster!König’s walls. knee bumping against his when you sit down in the mess hall, fleeting touches when your fingertips graze his. his gaze is always cast down towards you when it happens, a silent look asking what you’re doing

it’s slow, almost painfully slow trying to befriend him, let alone touch him. but the voice in the back of your head eggs you on, “He’ll open up. He’ll trust you eventually.”. the little game you started changes; those brief touches start to hold more meaning. yes, you want to feel his tentacles against your hand… but you also want him. for him to trust you enough that he seeks out your touch, is okay with it

so when Monster!König pats your back after a day of training, casts his gaze down on you again, it sparks hope. “Nice work, kleiner Mann.”, voice letting go of any malice, replaced with… you can’t say, but it’s friendly. when he pulls his hand away, how long had it been there? a warmth spreads in your chest

it’s a couple days before anything significant happens, but it was something that had your heart racing and palms a little clammy. it had been raining out, a storm sweeping through before the sky was clear and sunny again. soldiers shouldn’t be deterred by a little water, so training was held outside - maybe it was just your shoes against the wet grass, maybe it was kismet?

running laps with the group after hitting the gym for a few hours last night had left you with wobbly legs, trailing behind the others on the field. eyes half lidded, nodding off a little, it’s only when your heel slips and you’re falling backwards do you fully wake up. already bracing for the impact of the ground, you’re caught off guard - and quite literally - when you feel an arm under back, a hand on the nape of your neck

“Careful, Kleine.”, accent a little thick as he holds you, icy blue eyes looking down at you. you’d meet his gaze if it weren’t for the angle - you could see up his hood from here. a mess of tentacles wrapped securely around the Austrian’s neck, catching little reflections of light. you blink and suddenly you’re standing upright, his hand still on the back of your neck. a gentle squeeze, barely any pressure, then his hand is pulled back, “Try not to fall again, ja?”

after that? it only amped up - suddenly you were on the receiving end of featherlight touches. walking side by side, the heat in your cheeks is only fanned when König’s rough hand eases against yours. for such a broad, brutish man, König’s touch is delicate, careful. turning a corner, his grip tightens ever so slightly, stopping in his tracks

as you look up at him, gaze meeting his, your eyebrows knit slightly, “König? What—“. words dying on your tongue as he kneels down, he looks up at you, gaze smitten. and only when he squeezes your hand do you feel a new sensation around your bicep - poking out from under his mask, a tentacle had wrapped around the muscles of your arm, “You’re a patient man, ist es das, was Sie sehen möchten?“

it’s suddenly hard to breathe as it moves down your forearm, replacing his hand with the appendage, “Ah— König.”, you choke out