#descendant traits AU

[sinnohqueen]

I am being very self-indulgent and taking liberties with this AU such as. folks in the Dragon Tamer Clan have very dragon-like qualities. if I want to give my favorite Pokemon characters fangs you can't stop me I will fight you

Lance has slightly pointed ears and large incisors. he's a little more """dignified""" vs Clair who is just unhinged (in the best way possible)

Clair straight up has fangs, more pointed ears, and her pupils are more rounded slits. she's grumpy but we love her. actually she is really sweet and caring when she lets her guard down around someone. still will argue that she is The Best though (it's true.)

[emathevampire]

me explaining my ffxiv glamour choices like

[sunderwight]

Thinking about a crack SV AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into a horse.

Luckily he is not a normal horse, no! He is a spiritual stallion, a character that was mainly a joke about the novel's genre in PIDW, originally bred on Cang Qiong's beast tamer peak but not actually encountered until Luo Binghe's "raze cultivation society to the ground" phase. At which point there was a subplot about him finding the stallion and letting it loose to run free, as like, an allegorical reference. Occasionally Binghe would find other horses across the years that were obviously descended from that one, as more jokes, until Airplane forgot about the reference and never brought it up again.

Shen Yuan, of course, was always Big Mad that Binghe never got to actually ride this super magical mystical horse, and never got the horsegirl arc he deserved! Where is the man's companion animal? How can someone with nine billion wives and even more nameless underlings be fated for a life of perpetual loneliness??

Naturally, the first thing Shen Yuan does upon figuring out that he's this magic horse is break out of the beast peak and make for Qing Jing. He's not necessarily planning to go bond with the protagonist or anything, but he's not particularly keen to live out his fate as some feral horse that fucks other horses either, and he's extremely valuable so it's unlikely anyone will kill him even if they catch him again. So, might as well take the opportunity to clap eyes on his favorite character before he's doomed to a life of eating hay and whatever, right?

Horse SY manages to arrive on Qing Jing Peak right before the start of the skinner mission, though, just as Ming Fan is telling Luo Binghe that there aren't enough horses. Ning Yingying points out SY and is all oh look, one of the stable hands must have realized the error and brought another, and everyone else is kind of like "uh that is... not a normal horse...?" but then Shen Qingqiu gets impatient and snaps at them to get a move on, and fear of their mercurial shizun overrides everything else to the point where Binghe just clambers desperately onto this mystical saddle-free horse.

Airplane borrowed kelpies for his demon beasts at some point and they are pretty common, so it occurs to Luo Binghe only after he's climbed onto the strange and definitely not normal Horse SY that he might be on the verge of getting carried off and drowned. But SY just kind of rolls with it, and falls into line with the other horses.

Hey, it's an excuse to leave the sect! And practice doing horse stuff! And also, he's not going to buck Luo Binghe off of his back!

Of course as it happens, the specific kind of magical horse that Shen Yuan is comes with a specially bred-for trait where they only bond to one rider. They're usually bred for like, kings and emperors and other highly important figures as status symbols, like magical companion animals but ones with perfectly mundane utilities. He's also got Shadowfax-like stamina and speed, meaning that Airplane can treat this kind of horse as interchangeable with a motorbike, and of course the capacity to cultivate. Which means that when the party finally arrives at their destination, everyone suddenly realizes that Luo Binghe has unwittingly bonded with a horse that's worth a fortune and won't ever let anyone else ride it now.

Shen Qingqiu flips his shit, Shen Yuan bites Shen Qingqiu, Luo Binghe hyperventilates, Ning Yingying gets kidnapped, and the situation basically resolves with Shen Yuan kicking the shit out of the skinner demon in defense of his new BFF the baby protagonist.

Well if he's going to end up letting anyone ride him for the rest of his life, Luo Binghe would be his first choice.

Anyway they get back and Shen Qingqiu is still spitting mad and offers Luo Binghe's head on a platter to the lord of the beast peak, but Beast Peak's people are actually kind of pleased. Like sure it's a little inconvenient, because Luo Binghe is a Qing Jing disciple and not one of theirs, but they were honestly beginning to worry that this stallion wouldn't bond with anyone! It's really hard to manage them when they don't! And SY in particular comes from a long and illustrious lineage that has nearly died out a few times, so they were never planning to sell him off even for a high price anyway. With a rider chosen, the odds of them getting him to cooperate for breeding purposes are a lot higher, plus it will be much easier to take care of him now! Though they will be taking Shen Qingqiu up on his offer of Luo Binghe's time, since "punishment" for this transgression will involve splitting his time between the peaks in order to help take care of SY (all the beast peak disciples are super relieved, apparently before Shen Yuan transmigrated, the horsey original goods was extremely prone to biting and kicking...)

Shen Qingqiu basically tells Luo Binghe not to bother coming back, which fills Binghe with despair, but he gets over it eventually. The beast peak is nice! They give him a cultivation manual as well, in order to help him understand what they do, and it seems that Binghe can understand it a lot better than his QJP one. The peak lord gives him permission to use the dorms as well, since there will probably be times when he has to stay overnight, and no one says much about it when Binghe basically moves in full time. On the books he's still a Qing Jing disciple, but functionally he's a transfer student now. He even sits in on classes and lectures, and a lot of the peak are just under the impression that he was transferred over to their peak in full.

Shen Yuan considers this a big improvement, and expects Luo Binghe to enjoy running around with all the pretty girls on the peak. But Binghe mostly seems to spend his time with him, in fact, asking questions upon questions not only about Shen Yuan's breed, but about his specific background and lineage. The beast peak is overall pretty nice, although sadly it's not full of cool monsters and companion animals as Shen Yuan would have hoped. Mostly the peak specializes in the cultivation world's equivalent of livestock and work animals, training beasts like spirit eagles and horses like himself, and raising animals prized for their meat, organs, bones, or other parts for medicinal, alchemical, or culinary ingredients, or sometimes components for weapons or other spiritual tools. They work the most closely with Qian Cao, Wan Jian, and An Ding.

Being a horse is honestly kind of boring for Shen Yuan, although running is fun, and he at least gets plenty of time to work on his cultivation.

By the time Sha Hualing's invasion happens, he's gotten pretty comfortable in his new state of affairs. Binghe has even figured out that he likes being read to, and has started reading aloud to him from various texts in the evenings! So far no good novels, or even bad trashy novels, but it's better than nothing!

Binghe also takes him for a lot of rides around the peaks (not Qing Jing) which is how they end up caught on Qiong Ding when the rainbow bridge goes down. When Shen Qingqiu tells Luo Binghe to fight, Binghe doesn't even have a weapon at hand.

Actually, he doesn't have a sword at hand.

Turns out having your magical horse kick a demon to death is still pretty effective!

Shen Yuan even manages to avoid getting poisoned too. Rather, Elder Hammer threatens to poison him and Luo Binghe charges at him shouting "stay away from my horse! I'll kill you!" and etc, and does get nicked by the thorns, but only Binghe and Shen Yuan notice and of course the poison doesn't work on Binghe, congrats for unlocking a new hint as to Luo Binghe's mysterious origins!

Yes, Horse SY shows up to help Binghe in the Dream Demon event. He still looks like a horse for it, but it also marks the first time he's able to speak to Luo Binghe, which successfully distracts Luo Binghe from a lot of the tormenting visions of his past because talking magic horse friend has a way of doing that.

So the Dream Demon is like, that's not a normal horse, and Luo Binghe is all "stay away from my horse! I'll kill you!" and Shen Yuan gets knocked out of the dream as usual. Wakes up to Luo Binghe rushing to his stall to check on him and prepare him some nice warm congee and double-check that he can't talk for reals (only in dreams for now, alas).

Anyway Luo Binghe has no reason to hide his demonic cultivation practice from his horse, so Shen Yuan gets to sit in on it as Binghe tries to put Meng Mo's teachings into practice, which he finds super cool. Binghe's normal cultivation also progresses quite a bit, but he's still very much disadvantaged there because the beat peak is only giving him like, half-assed guest disciple status lessons, no personal one-and-one tutelage, and he's unofficially banned from Qing Jing and wouldn't get any help there anyway (apart from Ning Yingying). The beast peak lord isn't really his shizun and Shen Qingqiu isn't going to take Binghe to do things like claim a sword from Wan Jian, either.

Luckily, Binghe can now confer with his horse in his dreams! Shen Yuan has such helpful ideas as compelling various hall masters and combat teachers to dream about their lessons, so that Binghe can insert himself into the form of their students and supplement his tutelage with nighttime training from all around the sect. And also stealing some blank documents from An Ding and forging paperwork to turn over to Wan Jian to make it look like Binghe has permission to claim a spiritual sword without Shen Qingqiu's approval.

What a way to pass the time before the Immortal Alliance Conference!

Horse Shen Yuan would like very much to just carry Luo Binghe away in the opposite direction, thank you, but he does have a system and it is still holding a metaphorical gun to his head about this. Still, there's no force in the world that could keep Shen Yuan in his stable when shit starts to go down, or that could stop him from kicking the snot out of Shen Qingqiu when he tries to throw Binghe into the Abyss. (Binghe's thoughts on the fight: "stay away from my horse! I'll kill you!")

However, Binghe does still get thrown down, and Horse SY runs off whilst weeping crystalline tears of dismay as his mane whips in the wind, imagining a future where a blackened Luo Binghe returns for his revenge arc and symbolically sends his beloved horsie companion away forever to go frolic or some shit, which Shen Yuan is not interested in!

But what can he do? By the time Binghe gets out of the Abyss, his need for a horse will be decidedly minimal. It already went down a bunch when he finally got Zheng Yang (that Binghe somehow almost never flew anywhere on, surely for reasons unrelated to his bond with SY), and with Xin Mo and all his OP talents, even if he did keep Shen Yuan, wouldn't he become as much of a useless background character as countless auxiliary wives in his harem?

No! He won't stand for it! There has to be a way for him to convince even blackened Binghe that Shen Yuan is still the best ride in town!

Luckily, Shen Yuan knows where there are some power-ups that might be able to help him. While he won't touch anything that would be vital for the protagonist, he's more flexible on screwing over random future harem members or side characters, especially when it wouldn't even really harm them all that much. So while Binghe is going through his gauntlet of horrors in the Abyss, Shen Yuan embarks on his own level-up quest to dramatically increase his cultivation, and become more capable of keeping up with Binghe.

When this leads to Shen Yuan being able to take on a human form, he gets really excited, but that's mostly for personal comfort reasons. He can finally hold books again! And talk to people! Who cares if he looks like someone's ponysona gijinka, he can walk over to a stall and order meat buns!

Unicorn form is next, and it's... meh? Mostly it's a boost in his cultivation. The horn looks fun but doesn't really do much.

When he upgrades to being able to take on a pegasus form, now that's really cool. He can fly now! Not only is it crazy good fun, but it also increases his mobility exponentially. Surely riding a flying horse would be more comfortable than balancing on a sword, too?

But that's not enough for his actual goal, he needs to keep going until he finally finds the right bullshit mythical item that will do what he hopes:

Turn him into a dragon!

Unfortunately said bullshit item is in the demon realms, which are a fairly difficult place to navigate as either a horse or a human. Beefing up for the trip takes Shen Yuan just about two years, and requires all of his other upgrades. But he does it, he gets to the demon realms, eats the creatively named Dragon Fruit Plant, and... gets... stuck???

In his new dragon form???

WTF this didn't happen to the random ox that Luo Binghe fed the fruit to in order to create a suitable beast of burden to impress the husband of Wife No.666! Although, thinking about it, maybe it did because it wasn't like the ox ever turned back into an ox afterwards. But Shen Yuan just figured that was because it was a simple beast of burden and saw becoming a dragon as an overall upgrade, why go back? He honestly hadn't really thought about it!

Cue Luo Binghe getting out of the Abyss only to shortly find that a random dragon is following him around. Maybe that just happens here? It doesn't attack him, at least, and he has no time to deal with it (or to sleep) because his first order of business is establishing enough of a foothold in the demon realms to regain access to the human ones, and find out what happened to his horse. And then kill Shen Qingqiu. In that order.

[yinyuedijun]

kitsune!suo x fem reader | feudal japan au

→ notes for an au set in feudal japan, featuring supernatural creatures and spirits (e.g., youkai). suo is a kitsune, sakura is a nekomata, and nirei is an onmyouji. → see this post for backstory on the bofurin trio (recommended background reading)

note: most information on kitsune-mochi were sourced from folkorist lafcadio hearn's accounts of traveling in japan (c.1901). I did, of course, also take creative license with some of the lore.

reader | kitsune-mochi (fox-employing witch)

→ as a kitsune-mochi, you are a human who has entered a contract with a fox spirit to care for it in exchange for having it lend you its power and carry out your requests. → in your case, your familiar is suo, a nine-tailed kitsune that lost his hoshi no tama. → most witches employ kitsune for the purpose of carrying out malicious acts, like having the fox spirit possess their enemies, steal the wealth of other people, etc. you, however, rely on suo and his power in order to perform exorcisms and exterminate demons—something that you cannot do on your own because you have no innate spiritual talents yourself.

→ although a convenient source of power, these deals are typically risky for the contract holder. you are expected to care for suo for the rest of your life, and any descendants you might have would be cursed to serve him as well. kitsune-mochi are heavily ostracized by human society as well, so if this relationship of yours were to be discovered, then your entire bloodline would suffer. → additionally, these contracts typically favour the kitsune, as they are the ones who define what it means to be "cared for", and may request dangerous or unreasonable tasks. → fortunately for you, suo is not a very demanding familiar! the most basic act of caring for a fox spirit is feeding it, and he's more or less happy with anything you make, though he especially likes tea, wagashi, or dishes with aburaage. this is more or less all he asks of you! → suo's disposition is generally so patient and gentle that you nearly disbelieved that he was a youkai. you were convinced for a while that he was actually a messenger of god who was lying to you about his identity for some reason. (at the very least, you'd noticed that he had a habit of lying to people generally, though this was an unsurprising trait for a fox and it was usually harmless fun.) → this perception of him was shattered when you saw him fight a youkai that seriously injured you. he spent an uncomfortable amount of time toying with it in a distinctly humiliating fashion before finally putting it out of its misery. it was only in that moment that you realised that you'd signed yourself and all of your descendants up for serving a literal demon 👍

→ warning: immortal/human relationship, immortal deity meets reader as a child but doesn't get to know or grow close to them until they're an adult

your backstory with suo

→ at a very young age, you were adopted and raised by a priestess of an inari shrine belonging to a small mountain village. consequently, you developed a deep respect for the kami and affection for foxes. → as a child, you once found a one-eyed, wild fox in a near-death state. this was suo after he lost his hoshi no tama in a battle with a demon—but to you, he just looked like a regular animal. most people would have let this creature die peacefully, but you were adamant on nursing it back to health. while caring for him, you named him mr. adzuki because of the colour of his fur, which suo finds incredibly funny to this day. → suo disappeared after recovering, never making his true identity known. however, out of gratitude toward you and the priestesses for allowing him refuge, he decided to act as the guardian spirit of the village, protecting it until the end of your life. → conveniently, this meant that suo got to eat all the offerings given to inari's messengers at your shrine, as well as allowing him to gain power from the prayers directed toward him. (inari himself seemed not to mind, as no actual fox messengers showed up to throw hands with suo.)

image: gashadokuro, a youkai made from the skulls of humans who died in battle.

→ although your village was peaceful throughout your childhood due to suo's protection, in your adult years, a violent conflict between humans and demons broke out in your mountain range. this resulted in the destruction of nearly all its towns and the brutal deaths of your fellow villagers. suo, not at full power, was unable to stop this, but made it his goal to save you from the carnage. → after allowing you time to grieve your loved ones, suo—still considering himself indebted to you—asked what you would like to do next. he offered you wealth, status, and other material things, but none of these appealed to you. → recognising that the mountains you grew up in would be plagued by malevolent spirits and demons for centuries after all the bloodshed that just occurred, you asked suo to teach you jujutsu. your goal was to exorcise all the vengeful spirits, exterminate the demons, and purify the mountain range so that its villages could peacefully rebuild. → given your lack of innate spiritual abilities, suo suggested that you make a pact with him and become a kitsune-mochi to acquire powers. not wanting to deceive you, however, he fully explained how dangerous it might be to enter such a relationship, and warned you not to trust fox youkai like himself.

→ nevertheless, you accepted his offer and became a witch.

image: sakura irl

meeting sakura & nirei

→ you and suo thus embark on this crazy mission to purify the entire mountain range. while you are more than capable of exorcisms and exterminations, your spiritual abilities (one of a youkai) do not allow you to purify the land. → but that's okay, because nirei and sakura have been traversing these same mountains to exorcise and hunt demons! being an onmyouji, nirei can perform all kinds of purification rituals. when you inevitably run into the two of them, and suo suggests that you all work together. → nirei is more than happy to help you purify the mountain range (because he is a good-hearted person, and also because he usually gets assignments there anyway). he improves his jujutsu under suo's tutelage, and he gets insights on kitsune that he'd otherwise never learn (it's rare for an onmyouji to meet a kitsune-mochi unless it's to prosecute them for some kind of crime, and it's just plain hard to meet and talk with a nine-tailed fox spirit). → sakura is a harder sell. he doesn't trust suo at all at the start, and he trusts him even less when he finds out that he's a kitsune and has been lying egregiously to him. (sakura and nirei spent an entire month thinking that suo was a traveling tea merchant from china and being fed severe misinformation about the entire country.) → however, sakura is very curious about you, because you're the first human he's ever met who has a mutual and trusting relationship with a demon, which he didn't think was possible beyond weirdos like nirei. → you also aren't afraid of him at all even after seeing his nekomata form, which gives him complicated feelings. he reasons that this is because you've fought too many demons to be afraid of any of them, but the actual truth is just that you find suo incredibly scary, and sakura feels harmless and adorable in comparison </3 → sakura deeply enjoys the act of helping the mountain towns and being accepted by their communities, though he's very shy about admitting it! eventually, he does "resign" to joining you in a long-term arrangement, and the four of you take on the endless mission of exorcising and cleansing the mountain range together. it's a very "monster of the week" type of set-up hehe

→ although the work of purifying the mountain range will likely take the rest of your life (and probably will require generations after you), suo often asks you what you would like to do after the work is complete—so that he can think of ways to grant your request. → you decide not to tell him this, but your wish would be to return to your old village grounds and rebuild the shrine that you grew up in. rather than just inari, you would also dedicate it to the worship of the one-eyed fox spirit that once protected your village.

[szynkaaa]

This is my first time asking but I'm going to ask anyway (and English is not my native language) I'm curious to know how your OC and the destined one met (I mean how was their first interaction)

hi hi! thank you so much for your ask, this is the first time I have received one about my OC <3

probably something like this (read right-to-left)

Gonna use this chance to talk a bit more about my AU lol

Wrote in a separate post here that Oz has met Sun Wukong before when she was a child and he was buried under the mountain.

So when she got whisked back into fantasy ancient China, she landed where Yuan Shoucheng aka Gourd Grandpa (the old man carrying a big gourd on his back) was already waiting there for her. He foresaw her arriva. The vague gist of my AU is that the the reason why this Destined One succeeds in retrieving all artifacts and becomes SWK is because he is also sort of the manifestation of that childish promise 5-years-old Oz made that she will save SWK one day (from under the mountain but clearly that didn't happen lol). But also since her ancestor is from this world, her descendants were fated to return back here one day.

Gourd grandpa updates her on her ancestors and their roles in the Celestial Court and the shitstorm that happened that ultimately let to the clan being massacred and one person escaping to "our" world, where magic doesn't exist and all those people are just characters from myths and stories. But also her ancestor isn't the only person that traversed through the two worlds - over the centuries more have come and gone. This is also why people in her world have those myths and deities. In my AU Wu Cheng'en also escaped from fantasy ancient China into her world and then wrote Journey to the West. He took artistic liberty to change some things for his novel, hence some things in BMW are different than in JTTW (like the ZBJ and violet spider love story or how SWK had a romance with White Bone Demon).

Anywayyy, Oz task on the adventure is to document their journey together, and she is responsible for using the magical gourd to suck in the will of the defeated bosses in.

And 2-3 days later the Destined One shows up. I don't think Oz was very happy about leaving gourd grandpa and join the Destined One on his travel, but if he is her best chance to find a way back home to see Taylor Swift live, then she will do it.

The Destined One is indifferent to mildly annoyed about this, but doesn't protest too much, as long as she doesn't slow him down yadda yadda. I do think that DO did feel some sort of special connection to her, because he is sort of a manifestation of that promise. it doesn't really take long for him to get used to her and also to care for her. One of Sun Wukong's massive core trait is that he cares so much for his loved ones and does not hesitate to do the impossible for them, and I like to imagine that even though SWK senses have been split into 6 different parts, the caring part stayed with each Destined One reincarnation.

[yurozo]

resident evil (university au headcanons)

a/n: this is purely based on the beginning of my last year :( feeling bittersweet

chris redfield: a third year sports medicine/kinesiology student. if you're looking for someone who almost always has a water bottle full of creatine in his bag, chris is your guy. he's never the type to dress up, especially because he insists on 8am lectures to 'increase his productivity', so he's usually in sweatpants and under armour compression shirts. he joined the rock climbing club at claire's insistence of getting involved around school, but is unfortunately still getting the hang of it. it's hard to lift all that bodyweight, so the majority of the time he just hangs there. has very little social life. he'll go to a party, drink a single beer, then leave. turns women down because it would mess with his schedule. he's paying a lot of money to be there, and save for a bit of attitude towards his professors, he takes his studies seriously. diet-wise, this man preps like a mfer. protein peanut butter shake at 7.30 am no exceptions, within a 20min time limit of his workout. the dorm fridge has an ungodly amount of boiled eggs. toxic trait: does that white man hand raise when he has a question, and usually only thinks about what he's going to say after his hand goes up. jill valentine:

sociology major, criminology minor. has her schedule perfectly planned out so nothing is before 10am. she can and will ignore chris' pleas to meet her on campus beforehand, usually preferring to go for a coffee before a lecture. is never seen without some source of caffeine in her hand. jill isn't a huge fan of sociological theories, instead choosing to focus on the statistics aspect of it.

her dorm room is an absolute nightmare. there is not a single space on her floor that is not covered in clothes, but has no shame in bringing people over despite this. she'll just kind of awkwardly shuffle them away with her foot to make a pathway.

isn't part of any clubs, mostly because she can't be fucked for that kind of socialization. people always hit on her during class anyways, so it's not like she's hurting for company. she usually hangs out with chris or claire on campus, goading chris into doing something with her or letting claire drag her along into studying. toxic trait: has a windowsill full of empty monster energy drinks. leon kennedy:

a math major, criminology minor. has absolutely handed in multiple sheets of homework with tear stains in the corners. for how nonchalant he seems to be on the outside, he really does take his studies seriously, and always shoots for a perfect gpa. he's primarily seen haunting the third floor library, always looking like he's in a perpetual state of agony.

despite all the silent attention he gets from people during lectures, he does not entertain it whatsoever. the man is there to learn. he has one class with jill where they sit in complete silence together save for a couple of witty jokes at the professor (or other students) expense. the professor both loves and hates him. he's a frequent visitor of office hours, but his assignment is always printed and crushed in his fist. he's had a few short-term girlfriends in university, but nothing long-term. he firmly believes that he has rizz, but he does not. most people just let it slide because he has that attractive weird aura around him. toxic trait: unironically shushes people during a lecture. claire redfield: engineering major, communication minor. another person who takes her studies fairly seriously. the fortunate thing about claire is that she doesn't particularly have to try, the good grades just descend on her from the heavens. it makes chris furious. however like jill, she is not a fan of mornings and is usually seen frowning angrily at the board.

has a friend with a house off campus to store her bike so she can fix it up on her days off, using her engineering notes of course. she's part of a few clubs, but isn't fond of being part of leadership or anything. claire goes purely for the vibes.

goes on a couple strings of dates with guys, but always refuses to go out with people from her classes. she's seen it crash and burn so many times that she's not doing herself. will, however, recommend other people to her brother. toxic trait: pulls up to campus at 9am with the loudest motorcycle engine known to man, and always slams her helmet down on her desk when she sits down.

[gortashs-skidmark]

Tieflings DnD - variations for the fanfic writers and artists!! -

There’s a lot about tieflings on the internet. THESE ARE CANON, except for one thought i put in.

If you’re gonna do BG3 fanfics about Tieflings, please please please consider adding some spice with origin lore and CANON facts about their race :) it would be SO fun!

Pls I need more zevlor fanfic too.

PLS READ: I don’t believe in censorship or ignoring the subject of people who are oppressed, but be mindful of how you write and use oppression of dnd races on your tav pls.

- Orange; Canon Historical Events, Abilities, Bodily Facts, and Bloodlines. It means i think you should look into it.

Pink: I think it's cute. Red; Warning, Comment Purple; Headcanon (only one of them)

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- Tieflings are prone to bad luck, because of the Curse of Aasimar.

- Planar Proverb “don’t ever make a bet with a Tiefling” hey I already made one with Lakrissa.

- They’re arcanally gifted, most of them. Zariel Tieflings are much better melee fighters.

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- Tielfling Blood; is tainted from the hells so they could have human parents. Be descendants of demon, devils, evil deities, night hags, and succubus!

- i know y’all love aphrodisiac fanfics, succubus spittle is exactly what you need dawg. Someone make me a fanfic including succubus heritage.

- along with that, Tieflings are unable to breed with anyone except humans or other Tieflings. Literally. They can be Tiefling or human.

- Usually there is some tell to if they’re Zariel, Asmodeus, Mephistopheles by birth mark, or traits like cat eyes, or night hags bloodlines have red eyes without pupils or scelaras

EDIT: I thought the flaming pupils were cat-like slit eyes in the game, but Karlach does indeed have regular slits!

- Tieflings can be male, female, or without gender. It is a canon fact. A win for my gender struggling homies.

- They can have green, blue, purple, pink, yellow, red skin tones. With dark hair colors only like black, purple, dark red and blue. I don’t care for this, genes be gene-ing so have any color you want.

Mephestopheles is recorded as to having blue skin, pale blue whites and red eyes, soot black scales, with large wings in the 2nd Manual. BUT in a 3e version he is described having red skin, bat wings, being 9ft, with white eyes, and slick black hair. Both of these are present in Mephestophic Bloodlines in BG3. Raphael is the son, though cambion, is red.

Asmodeus rules the Nine Hells. Mephestopheles being his archduke, only rules the 8th layer. Asmodeus has a humanoid, and a scale-fiend version of himself. He's red, slim, 13ft tall, horned, vibrant red eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. He is Lawful-Evil.

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The Blood War (where Karlach escaped) is described as a "philosophical war" and which kind of evil would rule. Asmodeus plays a part but didn't start it, it's rooted in ancient Hell conflicts. Asmodeus claimed it was a senselessly bloody conflict from a militia standpoint. He really hates it, he's not a fan of it. INFERNAL POLITICS ARE FUCKING COMPLICATED. look into it :)

Zevlor was a Hellrider or Rider of Elturel! a Cavalry unit for Elturel during the 14th and 15th century. They ride horseback, and use spears and bows. They're well reguarded!! Zevlor should have more pride in himself for his service, being a refugee isn't his fault, or The Descent.

In the late 1400's striving for Paladin Knighthood in the Order of Companion was a rank of Hell rider. Before and after the year 1494, you could be a Paladin and join freely.

The Order of Companions was an Elturel, of Western Heartland, theocratic realm of Paladin Knighthood. It's just a region of Paladins that are highly reguarded. They typically worship Tyr, Torm, Helm, and Aumanator.

They kept order in the high capital of Elturel, preserving local civilization from outer destruction. They're super Lawful Good.

Typically an Oath of Devotion or an Oath of the Crown.

"For a City Guard, they outmatched the armies of the Whole Realm" - Forgotten Wiki Realms

They guard general land, they aren't really police, and can escort as far as Waterdeep if privileged to. It is a job they hold for life. I FUYCKING LOVE HELLRIDERS.

Shortly after Elturel’s descent into Avernus, the Tieflings were blamed for the fall, and expelled from the city entirely. Zevlor and any tiefling hellrider’s title has been stripped from them. Any hellrider’s were arrested at The Gate. And the reputation of tieflings sunk even lower.

Badlurian’s are Elturian’s rivals but Duke Ravenguard was tricked into coming to Elturel for politics and ended up helping and sending in troops to help fight. He’s extra important! I might find Wyll, all though lovely, useless, his father is very brave and noble and amazing for what he does.

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- Tieflings can have feathers! Although rare. They can have fur, scales, or be bald like humans. They can be any variation of sorts!

- A more common portrayal of tieflings, is having solid colored eyes, whites and irises the same color. They can be black, red, silver, gold, or white.

- Tieflings are technically minorities and don’t live in the highest neighborhoods. It gives them an even worse reputation.

- Most of the Tieflings with famous status, also give bad reps. Climbing their way to the top in corruption.

- When Tieflings get nervous, experience anxiety, or are upset. They’re known to wrap their tails around their leg!! Super telling.

- They can use their tail like a monkey, very dexterous about it. It’s about 5-6ft long.

- Their ages, weight, height. All similar to humans. Idk how logical that is with 5 extra feet of meat behind them. Sometimes they can live longer, to about 120-150 years old.

- Tieflings can look just like humans. Though they can have their hellish features, those with strong hellish features are often killed at birth out of disgust.

- They can also have legs of a goat, tail akin to a horse or a lizard.

- Tieflings can be really good at thieving, hiding, and deceit.

- their diet consists of meat, marrow, gristle, fat, and bones. They’re highly carnivorous. They even eat roasted insects.

- Many worship Besheba, the goddess of bad luck, finding similarities in them and their goddess.

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- Tieflings are as sensitive as humans, same hearing. They usually have dark vision. And their body temperatures can be colder or warmer than humans depending on their type of tainted blood. --Mephistopheles blood lines are from the frozen layer of hell, maybe their blood is colder.

- They don’t purr, sorry girlies. They’re closer to humans than Tabaxis or Driders.

- Tieflings don’t regrow horns unless they’re still young, though they do tend to file them down.

- They have a natural unsettling aura about them. Even if their heritage is unknown to others, it makes people uncomfortable. They also can smell of sulphur.

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- There are so many Tieflings bloodlines. I love the Babau Tieflings bc they’re already known as uncanny creatures-- Babau Tieflings are gaunt and skinny, darker skin, and a small horn coming from the back of their head.

- Marilith Tieflings are known to be seductive- more than they already are, and have dark hair. They have snake-like half-bodies and have grey tongues.

- Succubus Tieflings! They’re like the ones you see in bg3, often have a small set of wings.

- Tieflings can have so many fucking variations it makes me dizzy.

- Tieflings can have bat-like wing shaped ears, that perk up and shit. I know yall think about ear movements. <zevlor has this>

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Edit: Ya'll loved this :) I can do another on Tiefling politics if ya'll want. Or more bloodlines and fun facts if you want.

I have built another list of Canon facts about Driders and Kar'niss Headcanons if you monster fuckers are interested!!

Currently in the works; He Who Was Headcanons and Shadar'Kai canon facts and events.

[flurry-of-stars]

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼 -𝕴

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝒩𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝐹𝓎𝑜𝒹𝑜𝓇 𝓍 𝒜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multipart story. 𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion–” “His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. You were already struggling.” 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.5k or so (A/N: I know, strange to write an author AU when the characters are based on authors but here we are. I want to say Novelist AU Fyodor may have a few similar traits to IRL Dostoyevsky but he is not supposed to be a complete one-for-one in every sense of the word. They’re supposed to just be minor nods to the real Dostoyevsky.)

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒? 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝓅𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹? 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝐼 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝓊𝓃𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝑒𝒹? 𝒪���...𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝐼'𝒹 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒯𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈.... ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ The lake always looks mystical early in the morning at this time of year. A faint mist rolls over the mirrored surface as dancers in orange and yellow descend from their places in the comforting embrace of timber and bark. Soldiers of fading green, browns and oranges line the lake, swaying in the soft, chilly breeze. Bird song and the gentle scurrying of the forest’s dwellers is the perfect symphony to this backdrop. Yes. This was why Fyodor always sat outside to write. He felt a peace unlike anything else when he sat at his small outdoor table, the earth claiming the furniture by wrapping tendrils of green around its leg. He doesn’t mind. He never had any intentions of moving it after all. A single page sat at his hands, one hand elegantly moving across it as he writes in Russian, his mother tongue. The sound of his pen scratching against the white sheet tickles his brain pleasantly, each stroke deliberate and careful. Fyodor would only write the drafts of his novels on paper. He would never touch a keyboard. Even when conversing with his agent he would only use his phone. With his long distant friend and fellow author, he opted for letters. Technology was something Fyodor wasn’t fond of. His deep, purple eyes rise from the page, tired eyes scanning the horizon before him. He notices a few russet sparrows flying over the lake. For a moment, he even thinks he can see a fox on the other side of the lake, disappearing into the treeline. Yes. This view was far more enjoyable than some television or computer screen. He breathes deeply, taking in the rich, earthy air around him. It wouldn’t be long until this view would be painted in white, the frigid air forcing him to stay indoors far more than he would have liked to be there. The novelist was a homebody, that much was true. But he spent most of his time outdoors when he wrote his stories. Or rather, attempted to. His current novel had been giving him a bit of grief as of late. “Romance novels are popular right now!” He could still hear his agent’s voice insisting. “With the works you’re already known for, I bet the world is dying to see your take on one! Plus, if we partner with this company and make it an international release, the revenue would tie you over so you can focus on a novel you actually want to write!” Fyodor scoffs. He wouldn’t have even considered writing such a novel, were it not for the fact that his funds were looking a bit depressed as of late, due to a few recent large expenses that needed to be paid. His eyes scanned over to his wristwatch; it was still a few hours yet until his guest would arrive. Another matter his agent had been too insistent on that Fyodor had begrudgingly accepted.

He didn’t understand why she had been so pushy about the matter of an assistant. He had managed so far on his own. He didn’t need any help. These were his stories to tell. Sighing, Fyodor rises from his chair. He moves towards his small, cozy dwelling, his raven hair ruffled by the Autumn breeze. Perhaps a nice pot of tea would get those creative juices flowing again. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ A soft breeze teases your hair and scarf as you walk up the winding stone path, heading deeper into the heart of the forest, an eerie fog cast across the sky. The trees sway their branches in the wind as if greeting you as sunlight filters through the thick branches, showers of yellow and orange descending on your path as you walk. You see an old, rough-looking tabby cat that gives a low mewl before disappearing over the fence like an elegant shadow. You notice a few small cottages scattered around the area. One is at the top of a flight of narrow cobblestone steps. Another is nestled near some thick bushes and trees, almost devouring the structure in its natural embrace.

The thin fence lining the pathway is overgrown with thick vines and small flowers here and there, with tall trees and other flora about, creating an almost fairytale-like appearance. Everything here is quiet and still, aside from the chirps of a few insects and the whistling of birds. You clutch your orange coat closer to your body, the fabric blending in with your environment as excitement runs through every inch of your veins. This was the opportunity you had been searching for! What were the chances that you’d run into a literary agent while heading to the unemployment centre to ask for help? It was as though God himself had lifted an olive branch for you.

The agent, Vivian, had looked at you with such joy when you explained that you were looking for experience helping authors get their works published. You wanted to help however you could, whether that be as an editor, a translator or even a beta reader! You just wanted a way to step into this field finally. You had grown up with a love for books and stories. You wanted to be part of the process to get these books created. “Well, I have just the guy for you,” Vivian had replied, a small smirk on her lips as she handed you her business card with a name written on the back. The name of the novelist she had been helping for the past decade. Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

You had never heard of the man before. Walking along the quiet stone path, heading towards a large archway overgrown with blossoming flowers, you wonder if he wrote under a pen name. You were so excited to meet him! Oh, but you needed to calm down and relax. Don’t make this weird! You walk through the archway, the gentle aroma of the blossoming flowers filling your senses as your eyes fall on the crystal-clear lake before you. The water was a calm, almost mystical blue, with nothing disturbing its perfect surface. It looked like it could have been the subject of an oil painting. You blink, the trance broken as you notice movement. An older gentleman sits at a small outdoor table, a small porcelain teacup in hand. You notice a few strands of grey in his otherwise dark hair, along with the dark crescent moons under his mystifying yet cold purple eyes. You wondered if they were from late nights of writing stories or brainstorming.

He looked more frail than you were expecting. Quite lithe. He reminded you of a scarecrow. He was almost swimming in the dark coat covering his shoulders, even his white scarf seemed to be looped multiple times more around his throat. You tense as his eyes flicker up, meeting yours. The teacup moves back towards the saucer, resting upon it with a soft clink. He lifts one of his hands, beckoning you closer. You come to stand before him, your heart pounding out of nervousness and excitement. This was it. The first day of the rest of your life! Things would only be looking up from here! Before you can speak, the gentleman interrupts you. His thick Russian accent sends a slight shiver down your spine, “You’re the assistant Vivian sent.” He looks you up and down slowly. You can feel the judging look in his eyes as he scans you carefully, “You have no experience in this field and yet you agreed to be my assistant. Fascinating…” You swallow, trying to calm yourself. You almost burst into excited rambles as you begin to speak in a rather rapid tone, your giddiness getting the better of you, “Y-yes sir! You see, it’s always been a dream of–” “Enough.” He says suddenly, shaking his head. Those dark eyes of his stare coldly into yours, your excited heartbeat being frozen still in your chest as he adds, “I do not wish to hear your life story. You are here to do a job. And I expect you to do it well.”

You try and speak up, “Shouldn’t we go inside–” “No. You will work out here,” he cuts you off as he reaches down to a leather bag by the side of his chair, hidden from view. He lifts it, passing it over to you as he speaks, “Within this is the first three chapters of my latest novel. I need you to proofread, edit and translate it into English by the end of the week.” You tense; the end of the week? You supposed you could handle that. What’s the most he could have done? Really? Maybe ten thousand words total? You take out the first group of papers. It looks like he’s stapled each chapter together. There’s no title page yet, so it starts straight on the prologue. One issue becomes apparent very quickly. One big, glaring issue. Fyodor’s handwriting. He had written in fluent Russian from what you could tell. But his handwriting was quite…well, it was cursive? It was hard for you to put into words. The best way you could describe it was like a doctor’s handwriting. “Excuse me, Mr. Dostoyevsky?” You look up from the first page. Fyodor is gazing across the lake, sipping on his tea once more. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you continue, your tone soft and polite, “I’m having some trouble reading your handwriting. I don’t suppose you have a typed version I could reference instead?” His dark eyes slowly turn over to you. You swear you feel the cold of a hundred Winters rush through your body at once, “If you can’t translate it, then I shall call Vivian right now and inform her that sending someone illiterate does not help me in the slightest.”

‘Illiterate??’ You quietly think, feeling both offended and furious. ‘At least my writing doesn’t look like a chicken walked all over my page!’ Biting your tongue, you nod. You would make this work, just to spite this guy. ‘Just think about the end goal. Someone out there is going to love this book. You just need to focus on your goal..’ It’s a daunting task, one you weren’t sure you could achieve. But you were going to put your damnest into this job more so than ever now. ✩

Eyeing his new assistant from across the table, Fyodor’s heart twists in some cold form of rebellion and anger. Vivian didn’t mention that she was sending someone like you. Had he known that, he would have called his overseas friend to go and stay with him while working on this novel that he didn’t even want to write. His eyes scan you, watching as your pen glides across the paper, translating his words carefully. A smug smirk rises onto his lips, noting how many times you stop and start. He notices the way your brows furrow in irritation. You were already struggling. It was only a matter of time before you gave up and admitted defeat, running away from his little piece of heaven with tears in your eyes and a white flag in your hands. He liked that thought. That thought brought him peace. “You’re going to have to work faster than that,” he suddenly says, sounding very proud of himself. You don’t look up, your hands and eyes continuing to move as he adds, “Vivian wants the book by the end of the year. If you can’t handle getting three chapters done by the end of the week, you’re useless to me and any other author.” He notices your jaw clenching. He sees the way you swallow down whatever response you keep to yourself, instead replying with a soft “Yes, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” If he breaks you down enough, will you submit faster? Will that get you away from him faster? He’s silent for a long while, his gaze slowly returning to the scenic view before him. It soothes him and assures him he will soon have his space and peace returned to him. He lifts his teacup, sipping the warm liquid slowly. He just had to bide his time and wait. You would crack eventually. He would make sure of it. ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

Even though Fyodor treated you coldly and barely even spoke to you, you were intrigued by his writing. It felt like his words had a grip on you, filling you with the urge, that desperate need to know what happens next. The novel was about a young man. From what you had read, he was an extremely lonely man. No matter how Fyodor wrote him, or what scenes he was in, he was always alone, even when surrounded by people. But there was one thing you wouldn’t understand. “If this is supposed to be a romance novel,” you say slowly. “Then where is the other lead? What’s this guy going to romance, himself in the mirror?” “Oh come on now, cut him some slack,” the warm voice of your best friend chimes over the phone. “This is just the first three chapters, right? He’s probably just laying down the groundwork for now. I mean..” She pauses, hesitating before adding in a teasing tone, “The main female lead in that story you read didn’t get a proper romantic interest till like, what, book four?” “Hey, you say that like I wanted her to have one!” You joke, giggling as you walk up the winding stone path on your way to Fyodor’s. It was almost week’s end and despite having a handful of paragraphs left, you were almost done translating the first three chapters. Though it wasn’t an easy task. You had learnt that Fyodor had a habit of rambling in his stories. Sometimes, this made parts more fleshed out. More interesting and intriguing to you. But you didn’t need to know the full backstory of some random man sitting by a lake if he wasn’t going to be important to the story later on. “I want to give him some advice,” you say into the phone, your voice suddenly more serious. You notice the pair of village cats nearby as you pause in place. The younger orange tabby cat attempts to play with the old tabby, the older of the pair growling as he backs away, “But is it my place to give him advice? I mean…he is the author. It’s his story. I have no right to tell him how to write it.”

You hear a hum on the other end of the line as you start moving again, approaching the familiar archway. Then, “You could always try it. But this Fyodor guy doesn’t sound like the type who would take your advice onboard. You’re still so new to this field, your ears are still green!” You chew on your inner cheek, sighing. The chances that Fyodor would listen to you were slim to none. You understood that already. It didn’t take a genius to know where you stood in his regard. But you wanted to help Fyodor make improvements to his book. You look up at the archway, a gentle breeze pushing against your back as you sigh in defeat. “I’ll call you tonight and let you know how badly he chews me out.” You end the call, hiding your phone in your pocket, walking through the archway and into the lush clearing. You were already expecting to be greeted with the typical iciness from the author as you approach his table. “Ah, you’re finally here,” he greets you. His tone isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s not as frosty as you were expecting. There’s a faint hint of hibiscus in the air as the soft breeze draws the scent of his tea of the day to you. Yesterday was ginger. The day before was turmeric. He always had a fresh pot every morning when you arrived. But he never offered you a cup. Regardless, you come to sit at his table, your chair creaking faintly as you reach into your messenger bag, pulling out the last few pages of the first three chapters of his novel before speaking, “I’ve almost finished with these chapters,” you let him know, a flame of warmth in your voice. “I only have a few more paragraphs to go. Though I have to say–” You rummage around your bag, searching for your lucky pen as you continue, “--I quite enjoy your writing. It's captivating. Sometimes I feel like I’m hanging on the end of your every word–” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” Fyodor quickly interjects, deep eyes narrowing at you, the dark hoops under his eyes making him look more menacing. A shiver runs down your spine as he nods at the paper before you, “Get to work and stop wasting your time with idle chatter.”

‘Oh, so I can’t even compliment you?’ You quietly think, your hand wrapping around your lucky pen. You pull the gold and black ballpoint pen out, clicking it to life as you begin working, huffing and puffing in annoyance in your mind, ‘Fine then. Maybe I just won’t speak to you again. God, I hope all writers aren’t this entitled.’ You catch yourself, your fingers caressing the side of the ballpoint pen as the gold edge shines in the early sun. No…you knew all writers weren’t like Fyodor. He was a rotten apple surrounded by batches of bright, red fruit. He wasn’t going to stop you from reaching your dream. He would not stomp that flame out. A silence falls over you and Fyodor. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not quite pleasant either. It just simply is. You glance up now and then to see Fyodor sipping on his tea, his eyes always drawn to the distance. You scan his expression for a few moments, your pen stopping its movements. He doesn’t notice you looking at him as he stares almost longingly into the distance, his dark eyes shrouded with depths of emotion you struggle to comprehend. But there is one emotion there that is most obvious to you. It’s a look of deep, suffocating loneliness. He stares, as if seeing something in the distance you cannot. He is silent and still. You barely even see his chest rising and falling with his breaths as a gentle breeze tousles his raven hair, as though an invisible hand would be combing through each lock with a careful, almost affectionate touch. Then, as if returning to reality, he blinks, his gaze slowly shifting to meet yours. You stare at one another, frozen in time for just a heartbeat. There is no coldness, no scolding. Just you and him and his sad, lonely eyes. For a moment, you almost decide to ask if he’s okay. Almost.

But as quickly as you see this side of Fyodor, it disappears under frozen blinds and walls of ice. His dark eyes glare at you, hiding the emotions you saw behind a careful shield as he scolds, “Why are you wasting time staring into space? Get back to work.” You shake your head, snapping out of your trance, eyes gliding back to the paper at your hands. You don’t speak a word and merely focus on those last few paragraphs. You knew what you saw. That cold facade cracked for just a moment to reveal something more to this man than you originally thought. There was more to Fyodor than the cold wall you kept smashing again. Your pen glides across the paper, finishing the last few translated lines. You smile to yourself, placing the ballpoint pen down on the garden table before looking up at Fyodor, pride glittering in your eyes. You’d completed the first obstacle he’d put in your way, “I’m done, Mr. Dostoyevsky.” His eyes graze over your smile, the proud glimmer in your eyes, then move down towards the sheet of paper at your fingertips. He turns his body, sitting at the table properly now as he nods at you, “Let me check.” Taking the rest of the pages out of your bag, you slide each completed chapter over to him, your hands carefully caressing the top sheet before passing it over. You were hoping this would prove your value to Fyodor and get him to start treating you…well, like someone trying to help him. Like a proper translator. Like someone actually trying to get his book published. He’s silent for a long while as he flips through the translated chapters. He murmurs to himself every now and then in Russian; sometimes he sounds almost fascinated. Other times, he sounds annoyed. Then, at last, when he’s midway through the second chapter, “This is precisely why I didn’t want to do an international release. My words simply do not translate well into English.” “We could work together to find a suitable substitute for your words in English,” you suggest. The moment his dark eyes pierce into yours, you gulp. “If you wanted to. It won’t be exactly the same but I’m sure we could find a nice middle ground.”

He’s silent for a while as if thinking over your words. Then his eyes travel back to the page, murmuring, “We can try. But I assure you, you won’t be able to translate it perfectly. The English language is incapable of properly translating what I’m attempting to convey–” ‘There he goes again, acting all high and–,’ your grumpy thoughts are interrupted as a thought strikes you like a bolt from the blue. You resist the urge to gasp. Wait…was this the first proper, positive reaction you’ve gotten from Fyodor? He accepted you reaching out a hand to him? Then maybe now was your chance! You gasp a little, suddenly standing up, much to both yours and Fyodor’s surprise. He looks up at you, taken off guard as you suddenly blurt out, “Um! In that case, I had some other advice I wanted to give to! It’s in regards to that man you focus the second chapter on!” “I don’t know if he has any significance to the plot or not, but is it really necessary to have the last twenty pages focused just on his backstory?" "Because it seems like you could use these pages to develop the male lead further or even bring in the female lead! Are you intending for him to have a larger role or–” “You dare to have the audacity to lecture me on how to write my novel?” Fyodor’s cold voice cuts you off, his eyes narrowing at you dangerously. You can almost feel your voice being stolen by his anger, as he continues you glare daggers at you so sharp, that you feel that little shred of confidence and pride you’d finally gained being ripped to shreds before you. “You translate three chapters and that’s it? You’re suddenly an expert in the writing world, are you?” He scoffs, laughing at you mockingly. He tosses the translated pages onto the table, his eyes continuing to stare into your own shocked eyes. His voice grows harsher as he suddenly begins to speak in his native tongue.

“Сверхуважаемая госпожа, я хочу напомнить вам, что ваше право на собственное мнение не обязывает меня слушать этот бред. Молчание - великий талант. Мой совет вам: если у вас будут мысли, держите их при себе; в наше время умные люди молчат, а не разговаривают. Я вас здесь не нанял для авторского выступления, так что будьте любезны, работайте и не стройте из себя Александром Сергеевичем Пушкиным.” *

He stands suddenly, leaving you stunned in place, unable to find your voice. You watch in stunned horror as he storms towards his cottage, tucked and hidden within the wilderness of the trees and shrubbery. He enters it, slamming the door behind him before you can utter another word. You feel both stunned and horrified. You had no idea what he had just said to you but why did it feel like you just lost your job? ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “You should have cut him some slack.”

“Do you really think I need to hear that right now?”

“You know it wasn’t your place to criticize him like that–”

“I know…I don’t know what came over me…” You sigh heavily, sinking into the thick duvet on your bed as your heart aches within the tight confines of your chest. The sound of the city beyond your apartment blares outside. The distant siren of an ambulance. The loud yells of passerbys. A dog’s loud barks as the scent of cigarette smoke and fumes waft through your apartment window.

It wasn’t the classiest apartment, very far from it, but it was the only place you could afford right now with the allowance you were receiving from the government, along with what little savings you had left. You sigh, running a hand through your messy hair, “I genuinely didn’t mean to do it. I just got so excited. I felt like he was finally accepting me into his world…” You lower your voice, sounding more upset. “But now I’ve gone and ruined it all…not even a week in...”

You lift your other hand, holding up your gold and black ballpoint pen once more. You twirl it between your fingers, Fyodor’s harsh expression still vivid in the back of your mind. You felt like you really offended him. You hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to help. But you understood how your words had come across as hurtful. You didn’t know the story Fyodor was plotting out. You didn't know if this man was going to play a pivotal role and yet you–

You hear a loud crunch on the other end of the line, causing you to wince and yelp in surprise, your thoughts broken through instantly, “Ack! Trixie! Hold the phone away next time!” “Mrm! Sorry girl, but look-” Trixie goes silent for a few moments while she finishes chewing whatever she’s eating. Then, she speaks again, sounding quite calm as she gives you her advice, “--I think you owe him an apology. This guy is not only your senior career wise, but he’s the literal author of the book you’re translating.”

You frown as she goes on, your eyes glued to your ballpoint pen as the streetlight outside touches it, making the golden parts gleam, “What kind of things does he like? You know, besides sitting and staring at the lake all day.”

You think over Trixie’s words, eyes sparkling with the golden hue coming from your pen. Fyodor hadn’t spoken to you much these past few days since you began working as his translator. He greeted you, scolded you to start work and then sat in silence until the day’s end. Did he like anything besides staring at the lake and–

Suddenly, you sit up in your bed, and your loose, white nightgown drops over your frame, the old springs of the bed squeaking softly. That was what you could get him to apologize! You would need to get some research in tonight and wake up early to head to the store tomorrow. You were sure there was a speciality store for this type of thing on the other side of town.

Moments before you’re about to hang up, you get a second call. Your eyes widen as you read the name on the screen; Vivian. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Sorry Trix, I have to go,” you quickly say, rising from your bed to move over to your kitchen counter where your laptop was sitting, charging. “I’ll call you when I can.”

“Keep me updated on your situation with your author man!” Trixie manages to chime back before you end the call, picking up Vivian’s seconds later.

“Yes? Hello, Vivian?” You quickly answer, holding your phone with your cheek while typing into your laptop’s keyboard, searching through the specific results you had pulled up.“I’m surprised you’re still up. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; all those involved in the literary world seem to be night owls.” She chuckles, before clearing her throat.

You scroll through the results page as Fyodor’s agent keeps speaking to you, “I presume you know why I’m calling. I just got off the phone to Fyodor regarding the…incident.” The incident…

You cringe at it being referred to like that. Your heartbeat picks up as you stand up straight, a deeply apologetic tone in your voice, “I know, I know, I was in the wrong. It’s Mr. Dostoyevsky’s book and he’s free to write however he pleases. I just got a little head of myself and–!”

“Easy,” Vivian whispers soothingly. It almost feels like she’s there with you, patting your shoulder and assuring you it's okay. “Fyodor is still a tad…appalled at your behaviour, but I have managed to convince him to give you another chance due to how efficiently and well you translated his first chapters.” A gasp escapes your throat; before your hopes can get too high, she quickly adds in a tone that reminds you of a stern teacher, “But this is your last chance. He’s said if you step out of line again, you’re out.”

“No…no, I understand perfectly!” You run a hand through your messy hair, resisting the urge to jump and dance around in glee. Oh thank God, you didn’t lose this chance! Your gaze flickers back towards the laptop screen, the results still silently waiting for you. You knew you still had to apologize properly for what you had done.

“I promise, neither of you will regret this.” You begin writing down an address frantically on a sticky note, looking up the coordinates to the location on the other side of town. You click your tongue, planning everything out in your head. Yes, if you wake up earlier, you will have the time to swing by and get everything ready before visiting Fyodor tomorrow morning without being late.

Suddenly, Vivian’s voice breaks through the silence, cutting you out of your thoughts, “I shouldn’t be saying this but do me a favour, would you?” She pauses for a moment. You focus more on her as she adds, “Cut Fyodor some slack.”

“Wh-what?” Is all you manage to breathe out. Everyone keeps telling you to do that. Were you in an echo chamber? Or did everyone else just see something you couldn't? She continues, sighing heavily and you swear you hear a pen being placed down, judging from the gentle tap you hear on her side of the call.

“It isn’t my tale to tell, but I will inform you that Fyodor has been through a lot as of late.” You frown deeply as you hear this. “This is his returning novel after taking some time away from his career, so all I ask is that you show him the same patience you would want to be shown.”

Your mind stews those words over silently as you chew the inside of your cheek. The novelist you were working with was an enigma. He was more mysterious than the deepest pits of the ocean, and more closed off than a crime scene. You only had his name. His career. And the gift of being able to read his captivating story. Well, part of it.

Just who was Fyodor exactly? And what had he gone through to make him the way he is now?

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

The sky was overcast and angry as you began to make your trek towards Fyodor’s quaint cottage. You sprint along the stone path as the sky rumbles like a beast, growling as the clouds light up, warning you of the upcoming downpour that is about to begin. Clutching the bouquet you’d bought close, along with the small gift bag, you run through the archway.

The usual clear, mirror-like surface of the lake was black and menacing, nowhere near as picturesque as it had been for the entire week. No birds were singing. Branches waved violently in the strong winds that buffeted against them, sending spirals of leaves cascading around, like mini tornados of color.

You barely manage to hold onto your bouquet and gift, grimacing as you notice Fyodor isn’t sitting at the usual spot today. You look towards his cottage, the trees and shrubbery around it rustling violently against the strong gusts as well. They almost look like they’re clinging onto the cottage to keep themselves rooted. You catch a glimpse of that old tabby cat sprinting up to the door, his paws reaching up and scratching at the timber desperately and at once, it opens.

You see Fyodor, wrapped in a thicker cloak than normal along with what seems to be an old ushanka on his head, keeping his face warm. He opens the door to let the feline inside, cloak dragging on the floor behind him like a cape. Rubbing against the Russian’s legs, the tabby darts inside, away from the rough weather. But he doesn’t follow the feline; his dark eyes lift, meeting yours across the way.

He watches as the wind tousles your long hair as though playing with the elegant strands, your bright, vibrant coat of orange a stark contrast against the blackening sky but matching perfectly with the leaves falling from rustling trees around you. He sees the way your brown scarf aggressively sways in the violent breeze as the sky growls a final warning. He says nothing as he watches you. Is he waiting for you? His eyes scan you once, twice…it’s like he’s taking you in for the first time.

Like this, you look like a single glowing ember in the darkness of the world, seconds away from being snuffed out and devoured by the shadows.

Not wanting to be left out in this downpour, you sprint towards Fyodor, a loud crack echoing across the sky as it lights up, lighting striking somewhere in the distance as you pick up the pace. Without a word still, he steps aside, letting you run in just as it begins to storm. Cold droplets pour from the sky as it roars, another loud crack is heard in the distance. Rain begins to patter loudly on the roof of Fyodor's humble home, almost cleansing the land.

You hear the door close, along with a lock being turned, clicking into place. You turn to face Fyodor, noticing that the room is not illuminated by the bulbs hanging overhead but by candlelight. There are candleholders along the wall, lighting the hallway in a warm, welcoming light. Flickers of yellow dance across Fyodor’s face, his dark purple eyes practically invisible in the dark of the cottage.

Gripping the bouquet tighter, you hesitate to hand it over. Then, at last, you do, presenting the brilliant bouquet with a gentle hand. “Here,” you say softly, almost silently. “These are for you.”

You watch as his calculating eyes trace along each chosen flower; the blue hyacinths to the white orchids, to the few lilies of the Valley. He hesitates to accept them as his eyes turn back to you. He must be waiting to hear her apology out loud, “I’d like to say I’m sorry for overstepping.” The plastic around the bouquet crinkles as you grip it tighter.

“I am both your junior and not an author,” you begin, fighting back down every inch of your pride to make sure your apology comes across as genuine. “I had no right to tell you how to write your story. I’m only here to translate it into English so I’m sorry. It will not happen again.” You also present your other hand, holding the gift bag out to Fyodor. “I hope you can forgive me and we can start fresh.”

He eyes the gift bag, reaching for it first. He peers inside, hiding his surprise behind his cold eyes as he notices the variety of tea leaves you’ve purchased for him. These are all high-quality leaves from a teashop on the other side of town. Passionfruit drop. Cream black tea. Autumn spice. He looks up at you, raising a brow curiously.

You squirm under his gaze, anxiously waiting for a reply. Would he accept the apology? Would he not? It felt like time was frozen as you and Fyodor stared at one another, his deep, purple eyes peering into the very depths of your soul as if trying to see if you were truly sorry in the very pit of your heart.

Then he moves past you. You feel your heartbeat freeze in your chest and then–

“Come along. I will brew some tea while you begin work translating chapter four.”

Warmth spreads across your chest instantly, your heart fluttering in your chest, a smile breaking out on your face as you turn, following Fyodor through the candlelit hall towards what you presumed to be the kitchen, your apology bouquet in hand.

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you were both glad Fyodor had seemingly accepted your apology…and excited to read the fourth chapter of his novel. Even if he rambled on for the next forty pages and didn’t progress the plot. Your ankle boots click against the old wooden flooring as you hurry after the author.

✩ You were an enigma to Fyodor. Despite the cold walls he had placed securely around himself and the distance he had tried to keep from you, you kept coming back. Did this job really mean that much to you or were you just that desperate for money?

Or perhaps you were here for other reasons.

The kettle’s loud whistle shakes Fyodor from his web of thoughts. He takes it off the stove, bringing it over to his preferred ceramic teapot, decorated with painted pink carnations, filling it with the boiling water before moving on to inserting the mesh tea infuser, full of some of the new leaves you brought him.

As the aromatic smell of spices fills the air, he turns his thoughtful eyes to where you sit at his dining table, reading over the fourth chapter of his novel. He sees your smile behind the pages. The way your eyes gleam as you read and reread paragraphs. It even looked like you were no longer struggling to read his handwriting.

He felt warmth stirring in his heart. Fyodor had seen from reviews and heard from Vivian that his works were well-beloved, but seeing you smile and the joy in your eyes was something else entirely. It stirred something deep within his soul.

You actually did enjoy his story. You weren’t just going along with the crowd or agreeing with a friend because it was a popular piece. You were genuinely enjoying his work. He feels his heart pound for just a second before he turns away, focusing on the tea.

With slender hands, he pours the rich, orange liquid into the prepared porcelain teacups, the fragrance growing even stronger in the room. Between the sound and smell of the pouring rain and terrifying thunder and the earthy, aromatic smell of the Autumn spice tea, Fyodor felt his shoulders relaxing as he brought the two teacups over to the dining table, just in time to hear you gasp quietly.

Ah, you must’ve gotten to the part where the female lead is fleetingly introduced. For a moment, Fyodor finds himself smiling.

𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 ♡ © 𝐹𝓁𝓊𝓇𝓇𝓎𝑜𝒻𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓈-𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦

Next

Dividers: @/saradika * Translation:  Dear Madam, I want to remind you that your right to your own opinion does not oblige me to listen to this nonsense. Silence is a great talent. My advice to you: if you have thoughts, keep them to yourself; Nowadays, smart people are silent, not talking. I didn’t hire you here for an author’s speech, so be kind, work and don’t pretend to be Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin.

[blackberreh-art]

Fantasy AU, the Todorokis are the royal family and carry dragon blood in their veins. It's rare for those who are the descendants of dragons to be able to (powerful enough) to transform into a full dragon. Enji has the capabilities, but hasn't achieved it yet. Touya is the first to do it.

It's only unfortunate that AfO (one of the last remaining Elder Dragons) happened to be around for Touya's coming of age, and extends his hand to the young prince going through the traumatic transformation...

The Todoroki family dynamic isn't as fucked up as Canon, but there is that flavour of neglect and high expectations that Enji projects onto his family. He and Rei are in a sort of cold war and she lives off in an estate all on her own. She is also a descendant of an elder dragon But the traits didnt carry the same as Enji's and seems to be a full blooded elf. Touya is the first Prince and Heir because he inherited more of Enji's draconic genes than his siblings, BUT then ofc Shoto is born and shows much more promise than Touya...

[serene-faerie]

IchiHime & RenRuki AU Week

Day 2: Mythology

As the high priestess for Ichigo, the God of the Sun, Orihime has a duty to tend to the spiritual needs of her people. Kind, compassionate, and gentle, Orihime also became renowned for her beauty and her magical healing powers. But though many young men desire to marry her, Orihime's heart already belongs to another. No one else knows, but the man she loves is none other than Lord Ichigo of the Sun himself. Many believe her foolish for loving a god so dearly. Even Orihime believes that Lord Ichigo would never even notice her. But she certainly never thought that one day, the god himself would reciprocate her love for him.

Lord Ichigo has never been so fascinated by a mortal before. But ever since Orihime became the high priestess of his temple, he could not help but take notice of her kind heart and sincere compassion towards others. It's those two traits that draw Ichigo to Orihime, and before long, he had also fallen in love with her. Unable to resist any longer, he descended to the mortal realm to meet her for real. In the halls of his temple, he makes Orihime his bride, promising eternal devotion to her. Likewise, Orihime promises her devotion to him, overjoyed that her feelings are actually reciprocated.

However, it is forbidden for an immortal deity to fall in love with a mortal being. But Ichigo and Orihime continue to meet each other every morning, in a secluded garden behind the temple. There, they share many stolen moments together, and their love blossomed beneath the golden sun.

It was only a matter of time before their forbidden love was uncovered. Can their love hope to overcome everything that stands in their way?

[afuntimepartyy]

Happy toodles oc everyone! Sprout is boiling in my mind so aggressively esp with au stuff, but for now have a toodles!

Funfact; in this interpretation of dandy’s world’s universe, the surviving toons had since made a rule that no toodles are allowed to descend to lower floors for the general safety of the children. Among other things but that was the main deal about it, and since then any toodles that gets on the elevators are sneaking it… even with rules in place I guess a toodles innate trait of wanting to prove herself shines through.

This rule didn’t always used to be in place, but things happen down there man. Unspeakable horrors even

[witchofthesouls]

About the Other/Cybertronian!TFP crew in Jack, Raf and Miko…

What would their alt modes be like, do you think? Would they be more Autobot, Decepticon, or Predacon in nature? Also, what kind of shenanigans would each of them get into?

Personally, I do enjoy the thought that cyberized!humans would have a slant towards 'military' upgrades and beastial traits. Like a tribute to humanity's ties to the animal kingdom and their capacity for arms (tool usage lol). Think of it how a lot of civilian equipment, vehicles, fashion, and architecture, as well as groundbreaking discoveries, had a lot of roots from warfare or military applications.

Shoot, I'm thinking that Aligned verse cyber!humans could be considered throwbacks since the initial generations of early Cybertronians didn't have T-cogs!

I think it would be really fascinating to build on the Cybertronians' form of ableism (as seen with Bumblebee and Starscream with their stolen T-cogs) compared to a cyber!Agent Fowler -who was an Army Ranger-or a cyber!random human that lacks a weapon system and/or conventional armature. Plus, the massive culture clash between American views on social mobility versus Golden Age Functionist-held caste system.

(So much shenanigans there.)

Generally, my thoughts for their Cybertronian forms are consistent across the various Other aus with some tweaking on the plot and the world-building:

Jack has deep ties to blackbirds and corvids, so he's capable of flight. May have multi-forms as an ode to a fae heritage or something strange as a direct descendant to a Prime of Chaos upon a planet caging the Unmaker. Dark frame with a pale face. His (and his mother's) optics would be a grey-blue hue.

Miko is a War-Forged Seeker femme. A lot of is due my headcanons on Seekers (and their kin) and her yōkai roots. War-Forged is what I'm specifically calling Elita One's frame-kith. Cybertronians used to bleed pink, so the bright pink armor is callback their Primal Age and their ancient roots. War-Forged are mecha with extreme combat-related programs that modern science as yet to come close to surpassing them.

As for Raf, he's a dragon. Not quite a Predacon, but it's definitely aligned. Or, weirdly enough, a satellite. I think it would be funny if he's similar to Soundwave in some ways there. The Autobots would need to deal with his data-cables. A dragon shape as it's a call his family's roots to being adventurers to Elsewhere, his dad being a dragon himself, and the old warning: "Here be dragons."

[scenicphoenix]

An AU version of Shining Armor. Also obviously a redesign. An AU where it’s prophesied one of the descendants of Luna will fall into a similar situation Luna did when becoming Nightmare Moon. Celestia is so busy thinking Twilight will be the one she forgets about Shining Armor completely. Twilight is the younger sister, looks so much like Luna did, and has a knack for magic while also being an anxious introvert. Twilight ticks every box right? Celestia should have considered that it wasn’t just who Luna was as a pony that caused nightmare moon, it was the environment she was in and how others treated her. And Twilight in her family is the magic prodigy being taught by celestia herself. Shining Armor is just another royal guard rookie after all, what’s so impressive about his talents in defense magic. He also took a lot after his families nocturnal side, both him and Twilight did. And a lot of nobility aren’t particularly fond of nocturnal traits, Twilight gets a pass for being Celestia’s personal student most of the time.

[mononijikayu]

devil by the window ― ryomen sukuna.

Leaning forward, Sukuna inhales the pungent scent of nicotine, his movements purposeful as he presses his lips fervently against my neck. The convergence of sensations, the heady rush of adrenaline, and the intimacy of our connection weave a tapestry of emotions that transcends the ordinary. In his embrace, I find myself caught in the nexus of exhilaration and danger, an exploration of desires that redefine the boundaries of the known.

Genre: Serial Killer AU, No Curse AU;

Warning/s: Depiction of Death, Depiction of Crime, Sadist Behaviour, Mentions of Graphic Violence, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Alcohol, Sex and Drugs, Depiction of Smoking, Explicit Depiction of Harm, Toxic Relationship, Forceful Touch, Use of Pet Names;

masterlist

listen: devil by the window by txt

IT'S INTERESTING HOW LIFE IS A PUZZLE TO ME. Navigating life without curiosity is a challenge. But like all challenges, it can go in its highs and lows and it can lead me intrigued and it can leave me bored. In this small town, its often a wonder, how long I would last without the excitement of digging through mystery itself.

It's an inherent trait in human nature to explore the mysterious, to grapple with the vastness that life presents, often laying before us enigmatic puzzles that defy simple understanding. My mother observed that my inclination towards the peculiar mirrored that of my father, a man who found solace in the allure of unconventional discoveries.

He, like a nomad of intrigue, perpetually sought out the mysteries that captivated him more than the comforts of family, unraveling the secrets hidden beneath foreign grounds. My mother's words, though not intended as a slight, carried a stark truth – I am undeniably my father's child, a descendent of a wanderer who pursued the unknown.

In essence, I am akin to my father's devil's spawn, a title that, surprisingly, never bore the weight of condemnation. Instead, it acknowledged the relentless curiosity that fueled our existence. This inclination to question, to explore, is, after all, an integral part of the human experience.

My affinity for deciphering the intricacies of those around me often led to accusations of rudeness. People, uncomfortable with the depths I probed, felt exploited. Yet, what if life's truths aren't laid out for everyone to see? What if our existence requires a discerning eye to uncover the subtle nuances that elude the ordinary observer?

During childhood, I found adults to be intriguing subjects for my curiosity. However, as the years advanced, their lives often seemed to follow predictable patterns, culminating in the pursuit of common desires – money, fame, and success. The initial spark of curiosity waned as conversations veered toward the mundane.

Yearning for more profound engagements, I sought discussions layered with challenge and mystery. I craved the stimulation of the unknown, a desire to crack the intricate codes that define the human experience. Life, to me, held the promise of better conversations, a tapestry of intrigue waiting to be woven with the threads of challenge and mystery.

I wanted to be stimulated.

To feel alive.

Soon enough, I gave up trying to find that.

I felt like the tie had come to accept my boring fate.

Until Ryomen Sukuna came along.

He had been new in town, and had just arrived a month or two ago. 

He stood there in the window from my view.

He had a demon's shadow, from where I stood.

He was a devil by the window.

I first met him in that class, we were both in the same track for college and so met often in classes. But we never interacted. He was fairly quiet, never talking unless he had been spoken to. He often comes to the professors to insist on working alone on projects which require partners. I don’t think I’ve even seen him in the get-togethers that are spread around the campus map. 

No one knows who he was, where he came from — what he liked and did not like. What he does in his spare time, how he lives. He doesn’t even talk about his family. He didn’t seem to like interacting with any one either. The small town did not pique his interest, and the life within it either. He mostly kept to himself.

He immediately piqued my interest.

I liked what he looked like —  not that I really had a type. But I concluded that he was rather pretty. From the way his hands moved against the push of gravity, to the way his lips quivered into small grins as he found things intriguing him from afar. The color of light pink shrouded his head, it almost reminded me of light pink sunsets.  His eyes were pale red as though burning hot flames in the morning glow. 

His features were untouchable, almost like those ancient marble statues - perfect in their wonder. Everything about him seems fit to worship. It was as though he was their most favorite creation, shrouded by such precious anointment from the powerful above. The beauty of all life was etched into him the moment he was born. Yet somehow, he could not care anymore about such a thing. He did not seem to care for the gods, nor for their gifts. 

He would rather not be glorious or live valiantly.

He would rather be the echoes of flames and chaos.

Ryomen Sukuna was not built for that sort of life.

Looking at it now, I was the only one who saw it first hand.

Because I was just like him.

I can never take being bored.

I finally interacted with him months later — at some fraternity party that I didn’t bother remembering about until it was too late. 

I wondered if it was worth it to even leave.

I yawned, rolling my eyes as I stood up.

I decided to go, last minute.

All I remember was seeing him standing there at the large mahogany doors, eyes like hawks awaiting its prey. Arms crossed, his fists pressed tightly against the hard leather of his jacket. I couldn’t stop staring at him at that boring gathering. When I arrived, I didn’t even want to be here. But he’s here.

That was all I needed to fill through this uneventful night.

The music roared through the speakers. The music wasn't all that good, not even if people tried to excite themselves into it along with the alcohol.  But everyone danced like it was their last, oddly moving through the beat without an inch of propriety. They were beasts, but they were innocent ones through mindlessness. Lights soon went through different shades of moving spotlights, like a circus plowing through with an illusion - hiding the nakedness of this farce.

I lost sight of him that moment. 

So I went to look.

I walked through the crowd of drunken bodies, reeking of disgusting alcohol and sweat. The loud screaming of some piercing my ears, loud enough that perhaps my own ears could possibly bleed. I looked left and right, and upwards to the steps of spiral stairs and towards the opened doors of people walking and passing. 

In the end I could not find him. 

And soon enough, I wished to go home.

I pushed myself through with all of my beings, raging against bodies that were coupled together in embraces. In mindless and sporadic movements that one could not even consider dance. Through the smell of alcohol, sex, and even drugs. 

But by chance, my curiosity to find the way out had led me to him.

The room, once a canvas of ordinary existence, had transformed into a theater of macabre artistry. The oppressive metallic scent of blood mingled with the dampness of the cold air, assaulting my senses as I stepped into the scene. The thumps, once rhythmic in their brutality, now echoed as haunting whispers against the walls, a testament to the violence that had unfolded.

His figure, bathed in the dim light that filtered through the blinds, stood as a chilling silhouette against the canvas of crimson. The air itself seemed to recoil from the horror that clung to every corner, every crevice. I approached cautiously, my steps muffled by the gravity of the moment.

His hands, stained with the visceral truth of the act, cradled the remnants of a life extinguished. He stood above his victim, as though a beast that had devoured its prey. That  person no longer breathed, that was much too obvious. Instead, they lay there in a sea of scarlet pooling from the broken dam of flesh and bone. The bright scarlet dripped through his fingers like a morose symphony, each drop a note in the tragic ballad of the departed. The macabre beauty of the scene held me captive, a voyeur to the secrets unveiled in this clandestine theater. 

The weight of the unspoken truth hung in the air, the room itself a witness to the transgression that had occurred within its confines. As my eyes traced the contours of the tableau, I couldn't help but feel an electric pulse in the stillness, a palpable connection to the enigma that stood before me.

In that moment, curiosity eclipsed fear, and an unspoken understanding passed between us—the observer and the architect of this grim masterpiece. The boundaries of the known had been shattered, and I found myself standing on the precipice of a journey into the shadows, guided by the hands that bore the honesty of the crime.

Then there was silence.

I wasn’t afraid of what I should see.

He stood there, smacking the blood away.

As though what he had done did not matter.

Sukuna's cold demeanor remained unchanged, his eyes locking onto mine as I reveled in the macabre scene before us. The rhythmic pulsating of music and distant screams provided an eerie backdrop to our twisted encounter.

"You saw," he repeated, the weight of his admission hanging in the air.

"What?" I replied, the sounds of chaos outside still piercing through me, rendering me frozen.

"I killed him," he declared plainly.

"I can see that," I finally blinked, snapping back to reality, and took a step closer to him. Without hesitation, I closed the door behind me, shutting out the muffled sounds of the party.

“Who are you?”

I told him my name, I furrowed my brows. “Why do you need to know my name?”

“I’ve seen you around town, but I have never met you.”

“That’s to be expected when you don’t talk to anyone.”

His eyes furrowed at my lack of fear. "You don't seem scared."

A rumble of laughter escaped my chest. "No, no—not at all."

"Most people become scared when they see things like these," he remarked, gesturing to the gruesome scene.

"So?" I shrugged nonchalantly.

"You were frozen for a bit."

"Because I've never seen this before," I smirked, regaining my composure. "And it's a wonderful surprise!"

Sukuna raised a brow at my unconventional reaction. "A wonderful surprise?"

"You finally gave me something interesting," I declared, walking over to him. I paid no mind to the blood staining the floor or the potential mess it was making of my clothes. I let my lips linger near his ear, whispering, "I like that."

His gaze remained intense, but a subtle change in his expression hinted at a fraction of intrigue. We stood together in the aftermath of his gruesome creation, surrounded by the echoes of distant revelry.

"What are you?" I asked, genuinely curious, my eyes locked onto his.

He remained silent for a moment before responding, "A curse."

The revelation sent a shiver down my spine, but instead of fear, I found a strange fascination. "A curse, huh?" I mused, stepping back to survey the carnage. "Well, I've always been drawn to the mysterious and cursed. Beyond that meets the eye in being cursed, after all."

Sukuna's gaze followed me, his stoic exterior beginning to crack under the weight of my unorthodox reactions. The air between us thickened with an unspoken understanding.

"Let's clean up," he suggested, a hint of resignation in his voice.

I nodded, unfazed by the prospect of disposing of the gruesome evidence. As we worked together to erase the traces of his dark artistry, a peculiar camaraderie blossomed—a connection forged in blood, both literal and metaphorical.

Little did I know that my encounter with Ryomen Sukuna would unravel mysteries far beyond the confines of that room, setting the stage for a relationship defined by curiosity, darkness, and the allure of the unknown.

As we meticulously cleaned the room, the atmosphere shifted between us. The silence was broken by the occasional clinks of cleaning supplies and the distant muffled echoes of the ongoing party. The allure of the unknown bound us together, forging an unspoken connection that went beyond the gruesome tableau we were erasing.

Finally breaking the silence, Sukuna spoke, his voice low and measured. "Why are you not afraid of me?  Of what I did?"

I looked up from wiping the blood-stained floor, meeting his intense gaze. "Fear is a natural response, but it's not the only one. Sometimes, fascination outweighs fear."

He seemed to ponder my words, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not like most people."

"Is that a problem?" I retorted, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

He didn't respond immediately, focusing on his task. The rhythmic swaying of the mop seemed almost meditative, a stark contrast to the chaos we had witnessed.

Eventually, he spoke again. "People usually fear curses. They avoid them."

"I've always found that the things people avoid are often the most intriguing," I replied, tossing a blood-soaked cloth into a trash bag.

He glanced at me, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "You're drawn to darkness."

"Maybe I am," I admitted, not flinching from his piercing gaze. "But darkness doesn't have to be feared. It can just be intriguing, don’t you think?”

A rare hint of a smile ghosted across Sukuna's face, a subtle acknowledgment of our shared perspective on the unconventional. The dichotomy of our personalities—his stoic nature and my unyielding curiosity—created an unexpected harmony in that dimly lit room.

As we continued our cleanup, an unspoken agreement settled between us. The mysteries that unfolded that night became the foundation for a unique connection, a bond woven from the threads of the unknown.

Hours later, the room bore no trace of the grim tableau that had unfolded within its walls. We stood side by side, surveying the transformed space. The air felt charged with an energy that surpassed mere curiosity; it hinted at the unexplored depths of our entwined destinies.

Sukuna broke the silence, his voice carrying a rare warmth. "You're different."

"And you're not?" I countered, a playful glint in my eyes.

He snickers back at me. "Perhaps."

The party outside continued its raucous celebration, but in that moment, a quieter understanding passed between us. These people are unaware what just happened, how much of that scarlet red faded and thinned against the water that flowed down the drain, carrying away the remnants of the gruesome tableau we had encountered. The distant music from the party seeped through the walls, a stark contrast to the solemnity that lingered in the air. 

“Do you do this often?” I asked him, leaning against one of the walls. 

He raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“What we just did.” 

"Perhaps," Sukuna repeated, his gaze distant as if contemplating the intricacies of his own existence.

The darkness outside the room felt like a tangible presence, a silent witness to the enigmatic connection that had taken root between us. I couldn't help but wonder how our lives had become entangled in a web of mysteries, a dance between curiosity and the unseen forces that lurked in the shadows.

As we stepped out into the corridor, the echoes of the party became more pronounced. The laughter and music, now accompanied by the rhythmic footsteps of carefree dancers, seemed worlds apart from the reality we had just left behind.

Sukuna led the way through the maze of dimly lit hallways, each step echoing with the weight of our shared secrets. The air felt charged, not just with the residue of the past, but with an anticipation of the unknown that awaited us.

We emerged into the chaotic sea of the party, where vibrant lights and pulsating music masked the underlying currents of darkness. The revelers, lost in their own world of celebration, were oblivious to the transformative journey Sukuna and I had undergone.

Our eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. The unspoken understanding lingered, transcending the noise and fervor of the party. As if guided by an unseen force, we moved through the crowd, navigating the maze of bodies with a shared purpose.

Outside, beneath the open sky, a quiet courtyard beckoned. The cool night air offered a respite from the suffocating atmosphere within. We found an isolated bench, away from the prying eyes and the ceaseless revelry.

The night had become a tapestry woven with threads of darkness and curiosity. Sukuna and I, two individuals drawn together by the inexplicable, sat in that secluded corner—our destinies entwined, our fates sealed by the mysteries that lingered in the spaces between us.

Sukuna's gaze held a silent intensity as he finally broke the silence. "There's more to this world than meets the eye. What you've witnessed is just the surface."

A shiver ran down my spine, a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "I want to know more."

He nodded, a tacit agreement passing between us. "Then prepare yourself. The path you've chosen is not for the faint of heart."

“You say that as though I haven’t known that before.” I said to him, grinning at him as I took out a pack of cigarettes from my pockets and put one against my lips. 

“You’re mad.”

A huff of smoke releases from my lips. “Just like you?”

He laughs. “Almost, little pet.”

I raised my brow, intrigued. “Coming up with nicknames for me now, are you?”

I feel the intensity of Sukuna's gaze, a potent mixture of desire and dominance. The air thickens with a primal energy, and my heart quickens its pace as his hands assert their control. The harshness of his touch is electrifying, a paradox of both brutality and a strange tenderness.

He leans in, his breath mingling with mine, and the scent of danger envelops us. The dim moonlight accentuates the predatory gleam in his eyes, mirroring my own defiance. A silent understanding passes between us—a dance between two individuals drawn to the forbidden.

"You're not like the others," he murmurs, his voice a low, guttural growl that resonates through the night.

I meet his gaze unflinchingly, the echo of laughter from the distant party forming a dissonant backdrop to our clandestine encounter. "Why would I want to be?"

Sukuna's lips curl into a predatory smile, and the air crackles with a tension that defies conventional boundaries. He tilts my head back with a force that simultaneously demands submission and challenges my resilience. It's a paradoxical dance of power, a tug-of-war between the allure of surrender and the thrill of resistance.

"You court danger," he observes, his thumb brushing against my jawline.

"Maybe danger courts me," I respond, my voice laced with a provocative edge.

He chuckles, the sound a dark symphony that resonates with the undercurrents of the supernatural. Sukuna's grip tightens, a silent promise that he is both the predator and the prey in this mysterious exchange.

As the night unfolds around us, shadows flicker across Sukuna's face, revealing glimpses of the enigmatic figure that exists beyond the boundaries of the known. The moonlight casts an ethereal glow on his features, heightening the surreal atmosphere of our clandestine meeting.

"What are you seeking?" Sukuna questions, his gaze probing the depths of my soul.

"I seek the unknown, mysteries that defy explanation," I reply, a defiant spark in my eyes. “I do not want to be bored.”

As Sukuna's lips hover dangerously close to mine, a surge of exhilaration courses through my veins, electrifying every nerve in my body. The air crackles with anticipation, and I find myself standing at the precipice of an unknown abyss. The thrill is not just a fleeting emotion; it's a visceral acknowledgment, a recognition of the uncharted path that lies ahead.

In the dimly lit courtyard, shadows dance around us, reflecting the enigmatic dance unfolding between two individuals drawn together by a magnetic force that defies rational explanation. Sukuna's predatory gaze, intensified by the moonlight, holds a promise of both danger and an unspoken connection—an invitation to venture into realms untouched by the ordinary.

My response is not born out of recklessness but stems from a deep-seated desire to explore the mysteries that lie beyond the boundaries of the mundane. The challenge Sukuna presents is met with unwavering determination, a resolve to confront the unknown with open eyes and a fearless heart.

In that charged moment, the unspoken agreement between us solidifies. It's a pact forged in the crucible of darkness and desire, where the line between fear and fascination blurs. The mysteries that beckon us are not merely external; they echo within the recesses of our souls, intertwining destinies in a tapestry woven from threads of uncertainty.

As Sukuna's thumb continued to brush against my jawline, I couldn’t help but release a moan as the smoke poured out like toxic air. His touch is both commanding and intimate, almost sensual, almost a manifestation of wonder.

It's a tactile manifestation of the uncharted terrain we are about to explore together—a journey into the depths of the supernatural where danger and allure coalesce. Finally, the beast in front of me had found someone to play with.

"The unknown can be treacherous terrain. Are you prepared to navigate its thorns, little pet?"

An electrifying thrill surges through my veins, a visceral recognition of the unexplored journey awaiting us. Sukuna's challenge is met with resolute determination on my part, a commitment to venture into realms unknown.

In this moment, I experience a vitality I've never felt before, a vivid aliveness ignited by his touch and the revelations of this night. It's as if we both share a fervor for existence, a mutual excitement for the unpredictable.

Leaning forward, Sukuna inhales the pungent scent of nicotine, his movements purposeful as he presses his lips fervently against my neck. The convergence of sensations, the heady rush of adrenaline, and the intimacy of our connection weave a tapestry of emotions that transcends the ordinary.

In his embrace, I find myself caught in the nexus of exhilaration and danger, an exploration of desires that redefine the boundaries of the known.

"I'm ready for whatever comes my way," I declare, sealing our unspoken pact beneath the watchful eyes of the moonlit night. I leap on my tip toes, near his ear and whispered. “Let me thread the excitement with you, master.”

Sukuna's dark eyes bore into mine, an inscrutable intensity that sent shivers down my spine. In the dim glow of the moon, a wicked smile curved his lips, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between us. The night held a promise of unknown pleasures, and I had willingly stepped into its embrace. His fingers traced a delicate line along my jaw, a gesture that felt both possessive and seductive.

"You're playing with fire," he murmured, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the quiet courtyard.

A mischievous grin played on my lips as I met his gaze head-on. "Fire is just another form of excitement, isn't it?"

Sukuna's laughter rumbled, a deep and resonant sound that seemed to echo the secrets of the night. "You're more intriguing than I anticipated."

The wide expanse of the secluded area seemed to transform under the gentle glow of the moon, casting an ethereal aura upon the space between them. Shadows danced and intertwined, weaving a tapestry of mystery and desire. In this clandestine playground, Sukuna's touch became a force of both command and electricity, igniting dormant desires that had lingered in the recesses of my curiosity.

As we delved deeper into the unknown, the night revealed its hidden secrets with a conspiratorial whisper. I willingly surrendered to the intoxicating dance with darkness, embracing the enigma that was Sukuna. The moon, a silent witness, bathed us in its luminescence, casting a celestial glow upon the connection forged in the crucible of curiosity and the allure of the uncharted.

The odyssey of what we could do together had only just commenced, and in that moment, beneath the celestial canopy, I found myself enthralled by the devil's seductive caress.

It was a descent into uncharted realms, orchestrated by the enigmatic presence of Sukuna. Standing on the precipice, I eagerly embraced a thrilling odyssey that vowed to reshape the boundaries between the familiar and the unexplored, lured by the temptations of the diabolical. 

I once saw the devil by the window.

And here I was, taking his hand in my own.

I smiled, the bright red of devil’s eyes glistening.

Ryomen Sukuna returned it, almost monstrously.

There was no going back when the devil has touched.

[pilot-boi]

i am currently asking about the angel au, pop off my dude

Okay

So when I say it was reader led, I mean I created a world and a plot and changed my whole blog theme for a whole month. People sent in asks, and I would answer them as if I was the characters in the story. Through this, the audience slowly revealed the plot and the world

I posted art of all the major characters, drawn in the style of as if they are being surveilled by the Facility (the research place) in the case of people on the outside, or as case reports in the case of the test subjects

The basic idea was that the Brother gods had angels that would do their bidding on Remnant and be the go between for them and humanity. (The gods were more ambivalent in this version, but it doesn’t really come up) The angels also sort of act like the Greek gods do, occasionally inter mingling with humanity to create semi-deific offspring

When the gods leave Remnant and take magic with them, it sent a ripple across the world forever altering everyone who lives there. EVERYONE was combined at a fundamental level with animals, gaining many of their physical traits and instincts. MANY more traits than Faunus’ one. For example, Ruby is a wolf hybrid and she has the hindquarters, tail, ears, little snoot, and paw pads/claws on her fingers

The angels also left with the gods, but because they weren’t fully immortal they were sort of banished to another realm. A sort of in between dimension where they can observe but not directly interfere. The audience are actually these angels!

The real problem comes from the humans/angel half breeds

Centuries passed and the bloodlines become more and more diluted. Salem, who was a little girl at the time of the cataclysm, is now an old woman. (She’s a snake hybrid so her lifespan was greatly increased. She’s had to watch everyone she loves die)

Over the centuries she was able to accrue a large amount of wealth and influence, so she starts researching the gods. And when that falls apart, she starts researching the angels. Eventually she finds out that their descendants are still around, although it’s been so long that they haven’t had abilities or wings for centuries

She puts in more money, time, and research and eventually figures out how to identify the people with latent angel DNA. And how to bring their traits to the forefront

Ironwood becomes involved at this point, seeing the program as a good way to create soldiers. Salem is just using him, but he doesn’t really care. Their first test subjects are prisoners on death row, people who if they went missing nobody would care. Hundreds of prisoners die in the Facility from failed transformations. Tyrian is the first one to survive, and the process is perfected with Hazel

(By transformation I mean multiple wings, floating rings of eyes, maws of teeth and eyes, that sort of thing. The gods angels were FULL biblically accurate)

But they have their own opinions. They’re adults. They’re incredibly strong and useful, but Salem needs minds she can mold. So she starts “recruiting” children

Cinder, Roman, Neo, Mercury, and Emerald all less than willingly join their ranks. They’re all children when they’re kidnapped, and it’s been at least fifteen years for most of them by the time the plot actually starts

The final recruit is Jaune Arc, Salem’s own grandson. He’s the perfect candidate, her own family, trusting and with latent angel traits to boot. He vanishes from his home, has his memories wiped (the only one to do so since the others don’t have a home to remember) and joins their ranks

The plot begins when one of Ironwood’s other projects, Project Achilles aka star athlete Pyrrha Nikos, makes friends with Raphael.

Salem can’t call him Jaune in case his memories come back, and the scientists only refer to them all by case number. The other angels and other employees (Pyrrha, Pietro, Penny) call him Jaune

Salem doesn’t like that Raphael is getting close to someone else, because that means he might start thinking for himself. So she has Pyrrha killed. This makes Jaune lose it and have his mind wiped AGAIN, this time of all memories of Pyrrha

And this is the final straw for Pietro Polendina. Penny is caught in the crossfire and grievously injured. And when he’s sent to check on Jaune after he’s wiped, he doesn’t remember Pyrrha. So a break out happens, and Jaune Arc Test Subject Extraordinaire arrives on Ezra Ozpin’s porch

That’s where the plot begins at least. I can’t summarize all of it, and there’s a BUNCH of stuff I missed, but that’s the beginning. If you want to read it, you can either go through the faau tag, or go to the AO3 link below

And I’d love to hear your thoughts :]

[pillowbugs]

idk if i'll ever fully render this, but fantasy au submas i guess?

they are part of royalty through their mother; combined with the longstanding traditional beliefs surrounding twins, they're both extremely important politically, in addition to being renowned for their fighting skill. despite not being directly descended from the current king, most people still refer to them as the First and Second Princes respectively (or, the Ideal and True Princes).

in D&D / Pathfinder terms, they were born into a family of aasimar (angel people) on their mother's side, but as it turns out, their father's side had some demonic ancestry, leading to a strange mix of traits - even identical twins can manifest completely different tiefling features.

(yes, i know, this isn't usually how mixed-species children work in D&D - let's just say they're special)