#legion arm was cool

[asleepinawell]

had mixed feelings about this game (mostly in terms of gameplay and some of the later levels) but i got to jiggle the kitty so it was worth it

[lumi-klovstad-games]

I did too good a job coming up with Branwen Ailani.

My head keeps trying to write fanfiction where she returns when I don't want it to. But I can just imagine Angron returning again (as he does) and the Lion is getting ready to throw down with him again, but Ailani intervenes and manages to calm this DAEMON PRINCE OF KHORNE with her mere words and presence. The entire battle loses energy at her arrival. Her Marines, the Hospitallers, do what they do best: evacuate innocents and the wounded trapped in the crossfire. They stabilize the dying. They reinforce the Imperium's defenses despite being unknown to the defenders, and their aid unasked for. And the Lion sees this mysterious woman, who has the formidable presence only a Primarch could have (but how could she there ARE no women Primarchs?), walk right up the the Blood God's Champion and halt him in his tracks with mere words. He sees the flames wreathing his lost brother flicker and die, as this crazy woman does the unthinkable and reaches out to gently touch the face of the Daemon Prince.

"What has this universe done to you, dearest brother?" she asks, pressing her forehead to his in a gesture of utter madness, "I have known your hurt in the past, yet it is so much greater now. This is not who you are. It never was. This is only what your masters told you that you must be, but deep down you are still your own man. Buried in hurt, drowning in suffering, lost in anger and sadness. I cannot fix your pain by myself. These wounds are too great even for me -- but if you would help me, brother, we can do it together."

And the Lion sees something happen he never expected: a twinge in Angron's eyes. It's there, only for a moment, but there's no mistaking it: his brother still lives, and begins to fight the devilry of his flesh for control for the first time in 10,000 years. Angron retreats in the face of Ailani's superhuman mercy and kindness, along with her healing touch and soothing aura, all of which has put cracks in Khorne's control of the Twelfth Primarch, something nobody thought possible.

The Lion doesn't know this woman, or her marines. But they know HIM. And she greets him like an old friend, a sibling, even.

There has been much talk of "delivering the Emperor's Mercy" in the past 10 millennia. But when the time came, the Emperor's Mercy delivered Herself back to the galaxy, and many reintroductions have been far too long overdue.

[neep-neep-neep]

forspoken is literally not that bad some of you haven't been battling an illness, unemployed, and deriving meager enjoyment from Wild Arms XF and Valhalla Knights on PSP while your parents fight in the next room

[bunnivez]

can you write zoya with catgirl reader pls pls pls🙏 she probably likes dogs more but a cat s/o would be funny... like kitty ears and kitty habits

Kitty go !!

Zoya x fem reader

Well this surely is new. Zoya has never met someone with cat ears. She’d think you wouldn’t have the same habits as them but.. she was wrong.

She finds your appearance adorable. Petting your soft ears, hearing your purrs, sometimes she playfully bites on them gently, chuckling when you turn your head up to glare at her.

Imagine fighting with her in bed, no like actually. You two cuddling in bed until randomly you bite her arm. She looks at you surprised— it doesn’t hurt but still this meant war between you both. Let’s say there was a lot of pinning, pushing, biting, hissing, growling, ect.

Literally dog and cat behavior.

She finds it cute when you cling onto her. Or randomly jump on her and wrap your arms around her neck to steal a quick kiss from her.

Alright but imagine you randomly just bring stuff to her from the streets of something cool you found from the trash… There was this one time you brought her a ring you found near the dumpsters. It was all dirty and spelled weird, she gave you a ‘bffr’ look but accepted it either way, it would be cruel of her not to.

If you have a tail she will sometimes pull on it playfully.

She likes smelling you, apparently cats sometimes smell like a baby when they clean themselves which is surprising considering their fishy breath from eating all that tuna— JKJKJK So if that saying is true, expect that from her.

There has probably been a few times where you accidentally scratch her, it doesn’t hurt her though. However imagine covering those scratches with hello kitty bandages as an apology.

She finds your curious nature amusing and endearing, but she’ll always have a close eye on you, or if not she will order other members of the legion to keep an eye on you while she’s away. Zoya is aware of the many dangers that lurk around the city. Like the saying says, “curiosity kills the cat” and it is something true, especially when it comes to wondering off in syndicate. Zoya makes you know about it so you are aware to not wonder off too much while she’s away. She wouldn’t bare seeing you hurt or worse— dead.

… making biscuits… on her boobies….

…

…

Or on her abs 🔥🔥🔥🔥

It was a normal day for Zoya, more relaxed than other ones though, that’s for sure. What other way to spend her time than finally relaxing her muscles and laying down on the bed? Moments like these were rare, it was rare to see the commander finally relax a bit. Her back pressed against the mattress, she laid there lazily with her eyes closed.

Until she felt a sudden weight on her, like someone jumped on top of her. With a groan she quickly opened her eyes with a glare, slowly her gaze softened at the sight of the culprit; you.

“Babe, what the fu— huh?” She let out a confused sound as you started to knead your hand on her exposed stomach gently, knowing your claws could dig on her skin— so really it was just small scratches to her.

“What?” You ask her. She was looking at you like you were crazy, “What are you doing?” She asked.

“They call it biscuits, ” You replied with a smile before looking back down at her defined abs “it’s a good massage no?” Zoya simply chuckled and closed her eyes again, “Dig those nails of yours and I am throwing you.” She joked.. Well… Half joked.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Pino taking care of a sick reader...

~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~

~ Alright for starters, Pino has very little knowledge on illnesses, but he's seen first hand of what the plague has done to the last few remaining people in Krat. He's witnessed the fleeting hope in their voices, and the pain in their coughs, so the moment he picks up on even the slightest wheeze or cough from you he's in shock.

~ You'll have a hovering mother hen of a puppet clung to you protectively. He is genuinely terrified for you, thoughts of having to witness your last breaths strikes him to his very core.

~ It's only when kind Sophia, or his father geppetto, explain to him that thankfully all you have is a cold, that he finally eases up. You can heal. You'll be ok, you're safe. Those are the things that repeat over and over in his mind. You're far too precious for him to lose.

~ Don't even think about getting out of bed. The moment Pino spots you loitering around in your pyjamas, you'll earn a stern look from the taller puppet, his gaze focused on you as he makes his way over to you. No amount of assurances will cease his protectiveness, and at once you're swept away in his arms back up to your room.

(Just Sophia softly chuckling as she sees pino walk past with you cradled in his arms securely, offering a little apologetic yet amused look as you pout a little at the puppets assertiveness)

~ He'll dutingly remain by your side whilst you recover as well. He'll fluff the pillows of your bed and help you climb in, tucking you in comfortably as he sits by your bedside and stays. He's like a guard dog in a way, refusing to leave your side until you're alright again. You may hold and play with his hand, pull him into bed besides you so you may lean on him as you read. Pino will fulfill any wish as long as you agree to rest.

If you try to get up unnecessarily, he'll subdue you to lay back down again with kisses and hugs. Just being hugged to lay down as he tucks his heavy head into your neck, light kisses pressed into the clammy skin of your jaw and shoulder as he tries to convince you to just lay and cuddle with him instead :((

~ Thankfully, Pino cannot catch what you have, so he uses that advantage to be as cuddly and affectionate as he wants. Cold porcelain lips traveling over the expanse of your clammy forehead, his head of dark soft chestnut hair splayed against your pillow as he gives you sticky-cough syrup kisses to your lips.

(He'll pout if you push him away. Why? It's not that gross). He'll look at you like a kicked puppy after that.

~ His legion hand is a little cold, so if you have a temperature he'll gently press his palm to your forehead to cool you down, using his thumb to lightly soothe little comforting circles into your temple to ease any pain.

~ Pino will crawl in beside you if that is what you want. Stepping out of his shoes, he'll shuffle himself beneath the covers and tuck himself besides you- close enough for you to feel the comforting presence of him, but also far away enough for you to tuck yourself closer if that is what you wish.

He'll sit up a little with his face rested against his propped up hand, watching you sleep. His expression soft, but troubled.

(Also he may have a habit where he subtly tries to feel for your pulse 💀 you sleep so soundly it makes him a little concerned. Yes, he is that dramatic)

~ He's a little over-protective of you when you're in this state, so he'll take the tray of food out of polandina's hands and take it to you himself.

(Ok but pino spoon-feeding you soup when you're too tired and shaky to do it yourself :( he's very attentive and gentle when doing so as well)

~ Overall, he's just extra cuddly and protective of you when you're sick. It's only when you've recovered does the worried knit in his brow disappear, and he's his usual Pino self

<3

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Heyy! Could I request Jason x Child of Nyx! Reader, i'd figure it'd be a cool thing since you know Zeus and Nyx don't really like each other that and then their children fall in love.

You don't have to do it, if you don't want to and ps. I love all of your works! <3

okay so these have been sitting in my inbox since eons ago, so I decided I was gonna set myself a minimum of 0.4k words because I figured people would rather read a lil bit of their request rather then non of it, but I just churned out 1.2k words of this and I know more then the gods do about nocturnal animals.

enjoy <3

he was raised by wolves - Jason G x child of Nyx reader/animal lover

»»————-　★　————-««

Jason dumped his teddy bear jacket on the back of the spinning chair, after he checked there were no hedgehogs eating plum offcuts on it. He’d made that mistake one too many times. There were a lot of miniscule holes in the sleeves of his jacket. 

The medical kit he was looking for was most likely in one of the crates stacked beneath the snake table. The table with the snake tanks on it, obviously. 

Your cabin was dark a lot of the time, when you weren’t there, courtesy of the kingdom of nocturnal animals lurking between books and in pillowcases, so Jason had to turn on a few of the antique lamps you’d found [on the side of the road, of course] so that other people could see.

He got to his knees, wincing at the crack he heard. 

He could also hear a faint hissing. He looked into one of the tanks, and waved at Benjamin. Benjamin was a northern desert night snake. Meaning he looked like if a leopard wearing a choker was turned into a slithery little serpent. Jason was glad you’d passed that pet leopard you used to have onto Pollux and Castor. It got fur all over his clothes.

Benjamin just stuck his tongue out at him, and Jason crawled underneath the desk, looking for the first aid kit every cabin was supposed to have.

There was a pretty high chance you had chucked it out to make room for that little collection of shrinking green frogs you had found in a river by the Hecate cabin, deep in the woods so that when they accidentally cursed bloodlines and the like, no one was in imminent danger. Lou Ellen owed her first born to three different beings, but that was irrelevant. 

He dug past a few boxes of sugar glider pellets, and found the first aid kit. 

“JASON GRACE, SON OF A BITCH, CHILD OF ROME, CONSUL OF DEMIGODS, PRAETOR OF THE FIRST LEGION!”

Jason sat straight up. A thud echoed through the low lit little cabin, and his head began to pound. He’d hit it on the bottom of the snake table. He sniffed, “I said that once.” 

He heard you trot over as he tried to extract himself, the back of his head throbbing painfully. 

“Babe, we talked about this,” you fussed, and yanked him out into the open with the force of someone who took chocolate out of coyotes mouths on the daily. “You gotta stop banging your head! You’re getting that chronic pain from it that Will told you about!”

Jason grumbled about nothing, and squinted as he looked around. Your face was just a blob. 

“You dropped your glasses babe, hear, lemme… wait, hold this,” you said, dumping your wrapped up hoodie into his arms, the one with the moon cycle phases on the back, and then crawling back underneath the snake table. “I’ve got em!”

He watched you slide them back onto his eyes, your hands actually very gentle compared to the yanking from before. He tried not to grin stupidly. The hoodie in his arms wriggled. Jason looked down, and a small spiky red face looked up at him with big shiny eyes.

“Uh…” he said.

You stood up with a huff, “I knew it, you’ve got a concussion. Now you’re slurring your speech!”

“...No, I just wasn’t expecting a fox,” Jason managed to squeak out, staring at the little animal. It was pretty cute. It reminded him of a wolf, but not the wolves he knew, more of a spindly wolf dipped in ketchup. 

You paused, the first aid kit in your hands. “You weren’t? What did you think I was doing in the forest?” 

“I don’t know,” Jason said, standing back up and moving to the squishy blanketed bed behind the humongous crystal ball and stack of telescopes. There were also a few cat playgrounds to weave around, but he managed to sink into your pile of bat shaped teddies and pillows. “Fighting monsters, near death experiences, something regular?”

You rolled your eyes, and sat cross legged on the bed, reaching for his head with those gentle hands that made him understand how you could pick up the deadliest of spiders and feralist of wolverines without even a scratch. 

Jason wasn’t even nocturnal, but he did sink into your hold. 

Then you let go to crack the unfrozen ice pack and let the chemicals take over until it would make the tips of your fingers freezing. Jason knew to expect your cold hands under his shirt, trying to freeze him out. 

He was sort of used to it, though.  

He looked around your cabin while you savagely whacked the poor icepack against one of the many thick framed mirrors lining your walls. A few bats flapped out of their hiding places in the rafters and settled back down. A baby puma hissed from its place by the umbrella stand that was actually just full of swords. 

From the outside, your cabin looked like a tiny portion of a haunted mansion plonked between the Asteria cabin and the Hestia cabin, which was really just a cozy little room for anyone. Jason pet the soft head of the fox napping in his arms. On the inside, though, it was just old lamps and chew toys and even older mirrors. And a lot of poo bags. And record players. And Jason’s hoodies.

You were already wearing his teddy bear jacket, but he didn’t argue when you pressed the ice pack to his head.

“So, what were you really lookin for in there, babe?” you asked, taking back the fox. You held your hand out, and it disappeared into a shadow. 

“Bandages.”

On the other side of the room, out of a shadow, you grabbed a ziploc bag of raspberries. You pulled it back and began feeding the little fox, red staining your cold fingertips. 

“You know you can’t beat Beth, right?” you teased, looking up for a moment with those gorgeous eyes that made Jason’s head feel a little floaty. Or maybe it was just the injury. 

You smirked, “I mean, not that it’s totally not hot when you beat the shit out of people or anything.”

Yep. Definitely just the head injury. Totally.

Jason ate a slightly squashed raspberry. “I know, but I wanted to practise. I was gonna find Will. Can’t remember how to wrap my wrists.”

You passed over the fox, who wiggled out of the hoodie and curled around a fruit bat Squishmellow with a yawn, fangs stained with red that may or may not be berries or blood. 

Jason shuffled forwards on the bed, ice pack falling from his white blonde hair. “My turn?”

“I thought you were going to get the shit beaten out of you by Annabeth?” You said with a smirk. You had that shark tooth necklace on. Jason gave you a half hearted evil eye, and you opened your arms.

He flopped into the hug, pushing you both back onto the bed. A Tasmanian devil [how? You were in America!] and a grumpy looking white tailed deer and about seven different types of bush mice stared at you. 

Jason didn’t care. He snuggled into your hug, chin on your chest. Your fingers ran through his hair.  

He was your favorite feral animal. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[sonamytrash]

Precious cargo

An: Just Dadvi fluff that has been rotting my brain. I actually imagine Levi and readers' first baby being a little boy, but a baby girl worked better for this particular drabble. I promise to revisit some of my other headcanons following readers' pregnancy.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Levi strides through the Scouting Legion headquarters, his sharp gaze scanning the familiar surroundings as he cradles your newborn daughter securely against his chest. The ever-present crease in his brow softens ever so slightly as he looks down at the sleeping infant, a rare tenderness glimmering in his steel-grey eyes.

"Try not to make too much of a ruckus, brat." He murmurs to the newborn, his deep voice barely above a whisper as not to disturb your child's slumber. "The rest of these idiots don't know how to behave themselves."

Levi's grip tightens protectively as he approaches the mess hall, his gaze sweeping the room. Upon spotting Hange waving enthusiastically in your direction, he lets out an exasperated sigh, bracing himself for the inevitable chaos that's about to ensue.

Carefully, Levi shifts the baby's weight, angling his body to shield your child from the impending chaos. "Hange's about to descend like a pack of rabid wolves. I hope you're ready for the onslaught." He mutters, his fingers tightening protectively around your waist.

Just as the words leave his lips, Hange's boisterous voice fills the air, drawing the attention of the entire hall. "Levi! Y,N! There you are!" they exclaim, barreling towards the three of you with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Let me see the little one!"

Levi's brow furrows as Hange approaches, their boisterous energy directly at odds with his own protective instincts. "Tch, calm down four-eyes. You're going to wake her up." He grumbles, angling his body to shield the sleeping infant from Hange's grabby hands.

Despite his gruff demeanour, there's an underlying fondness in Levi's tone as he gazes down at your daughter. "Besides, I don't want you to contaminate her with your filthy hands." He scoffs, though the slight quirk of his lips betrays his amusement.

Hange's infectious enthusiasm draws a reluctant smile from Levi as they turn their attention to you. "How are you feeling, y/n?" they ask, their eyes shining with genuine concern. "The little one treating you well?"

You nod, "I'm okay. So far, everything seems to be going smoothly." You reply, Levi's grip on the sleeping infant tightens ever so slightly, his steely gaze softening as it flickers between you and your daughter. "Tch, of course she is." he interjects, a hint of pride colouring his gruff tone. "This brat's got a strong constitution, just like her mother." He says, smiling at you affectionately.

Reaching out, Levi gently brushes a finger against the baby's downy cheek, a rare tenderness shining in his steel-grey eyes. "Causing trouble already, aren't you?" he murmurs.

The rare, affectionate smile continues to tug at the corners of Levi's lips as he watches your daughter stir, her tiny features scrunching up in a delicate yawn. "She's perfect. She gets that from y/n, too." He breathes, his voice thick with an emotion that few have ever witnessed from the stoic captain. A feint blush paints your cheeks at his affectionate display as you place your hand on his forearm.

Krista makes her way over, gushing excitedly over the baby. "Oh, she's just perfect!" She squeels.

Levi looks to you for guidance. You can tell what he's thinking, and without any words needed, you nod reassuringly. He looks back at Krista, Levi's expression shifts, his usual cool detachment replaced by a rare warmth. "Tsk. Do you want to hold her?" he asks, his tone gruff but carrying a hint of invitation.

Levi's brow furrows slightly as he carefully transfers the sleeping infant into Krista's waiting arms, his fingers brushing against the delicate girl's skin with the utmost care.

"Support her head," he murmurs, his voice low and gruff.  "And for god's sake, don't drop her."

Sasha soon bounded over, her eyes twinkling with excitement, the other members of the 104th close behind her.

"She really does look just like you, Captain!" She reached out and touched the tiny hand that was now resting on Kristas shoulder, admiring the infant's dark hair. The others in the room chimed in, oohing and aahing over the tiny fingers and toes, cooing and gushing over the newest addition to the scouting family.

"Tch, the brat's got my looks, alright." He murmurs, a hint of pride in his gruff tone. "Though hopefully she's inherited more of her mother's pleasant disposition."

Levi hovers protectively, his steely gaze flickering between the baby, the others and Krista, ready to snatch the child back at the slightest sign of trouble. A faint, barely perceptible smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he watches the petite girl and her friends coo over his daughter, his chest swelling with a fierce, paternal pride.

"Careful..." he rumbles, his brow furrowing in a rare display of vulnerability. "She's precious cargo."

[grace-kami]

"I am not complete"

I completely OBSESSED over this all day yesterday. Honestly, I love this. It got me thinking about the similarities of P and Edward. And how much I'd love this as a real legion arm in the game! It would be so cool!!😭

Much love!!🫂❤️

[the-raven-lady]

Elias Rushorik: The Character Bible

Name: Elias Rushorik [Ee-lee-us Ruh-shore-rik] (referred to by battle [first] name)

Legion + Role: Night Lord, Contekar Terminator

Age: ~100

Hair Color: Black with greying along his sideburns, hairline, and nape; warm undertone

Eye color: Black with corners of white, like a dog LEOPARD SEAL

Skin Color: Ashy pale white, cool undertones

Height: 7’11 (unarmored), 9’ (armored)

Build Type: Bulging muscle, like a bodybuilder. He looks greasy.

Primary Weapons: Escaton Power Claw and Volkite Cavitator

Long Description: A wall of an astartes, covered in scars and sinewy muscle that bulges like a dehydrated draft horse. He has a prominent facial scar: a tear in his lip exposing sharp teeth and part of his maxilla. His black hair is cropped short, usually, but it's been getting feathery as of recent. Some rumors say it's the influence of his personal serf that's been seen hanging off of his giant arm, others say he's just too busy to care. No one dare comment on an astartes strong enough and more than willing to grab another's skull and crush it in his fist. He's not a talker, preferring swift and brutal action to resolve his problems like a ‘proper’ Night Lord.

Role: Neutral Evil protagonist and owner to the serf insert.

Why they have that role, based on the characters core beliefs:

He just wanted someone to do the shit he doesn’t want to do (clean his room and armor), so he steals the first serf that does a good enough job (he ate the rest)

He did not expect the consequences that would come along with taking care of someone, like actually caring about them. He, unfortunately, cannot recognize the care for what it is.

Beliefs / Quirks / Flaws: 

Cannibalistic, mostly because he isn’t fed enough. The Night Lords are not generous with their feeding schedule and amounts, sometimes not even feeding their astartes, so dude won’t turn down a good meal. He also fell in love with the feeling of flesh between his teeth.

He’ll eat almost anything though and food is the way to his heart. Well, it won’t make him inherently like you, but he’ll tolerate you if you feed him. You might even be able to bribe him with enough.

Everything is a transaction to him. “What do I get out of this?” He always wants to exit those transactions with the upper hand compared to the other party or parties involved, but it still makes him vulnerable to being bribed.

He likes having his ego stroked, but he isn’t stupid enough to fall for ego manipulation from his brothers. 

His serf, however,,,,, yeah, he doesn’t even recognize he’s being played

He isn’t lazy, just spoiled. He can and will put effort into attaining the things he wants.

If he gets bored enough, he’ll bully people, but it’s not usually lethal (unless he’s angry or hungry). 

Ex: Shoving his serf into the shower and blasting it on cold

Never shows his soft underbelly or any weaknesses openly, but if others do it to him, he will take advantage of it or clock that information away for later. He is used to others seeing any cracks in his armor as something to be exploited, so he naturally does the same.

His treatment of the serf is the embodiment of doing something good for a bad reason; the billionaire building an orphanage because he gets to name it after himself still built an orphanage. Elias’s brand of charity is the exact same. His serf is healthy and looks the best, which makes him look better. Other Night Lords want to steal her, which gives him both an ego boost and an excuse to take out his more violent tendencies while getting food and looking strong. It’s a win-win for him to put the effort into her.

He just didn’t expect to get actually attached, and because he doesn’t recognize that attachment as what it is, it’s incredibly unhealthy. She’s a prized possession, not a person.

Elias is never not going to see the serf as his property– it isn’t who he is to be empathetic. He does begin to care, in a warped sense. He chalks feelings like caring for his serf up to the same way he cares about his presentation. It’s for the betterment of himself. 

Greedy. He does not share. This includes with the other Night Lords and with the serf. His brothers cannot have his serf, and his serf cannot just have his bed (stop asking)

When he does ‘share’ or provide, it's always for his own gain. The gifts he gives to the serf are not given out of selflessness, but because he wants her to:

Recognize how capable he is (“Look at everything I can offer because of my status.”)

Realize that she's nothing without him (“You would return to feasting on vermin without me.”)

Perform at her best (“Why is there a speck of dust on my power pack? I gave you a coloring book last week, you should be efficient.”)

Disgusted by the actions of his battle brothers whilst being a massive hypocrite. He dislikes them indulging in torture that doesn’t have a reason behind it, finding the practice wasteful of energy that can be put into other avenues. Total boomer about this too. “Back in my day, we had a reason for flaying people alive”. He still uses the common Night Lord terror tactics when in battle and is genuinely no better than his brothers then. He’s just old and elitist.

Motivations: 

Obsessed with his self image and reputation to a fault in the, “Everyone just needs to remember that I am not to be fucked with,” way. Can and will prove that he is not to be fucked with to anybody that isn’t like, First Captain Sevatar or the Night Haunter.

He keeps the serf happy and healthy because he views her as an extension of himself: she’s his possession, and therefore she needs to be as perfect as he is. Well fed, well groomed, and overall healthy. He protects her the way he protects all of his things. It also makes him feel good that his brothers want his things (the serf), and gives him a sense of power that they cannot have them.

Kills because he has to maintain his power / image. He doesn’t see murder as a ‘necessary evil’; he literally just doesn’t care that people have to die. Everyone is a pawn in the game. He is going to win it.

Who they were raised to be vs who they are/are becoming: 

One of the rich Nostraman brats when Night Haunter came to reign as the Dark King. Elias wasn’t the inherently bloodthirsty type, just greedy and spoiled.

Joined the Night Lords at 12 in 896.M30 because he was sick of being forced to live like the common folk. Not the best decision he’s made, but he won’t admit to his mistakes.

Worked his way into being a Contekar because it gave him back some of his luxuries. He’s one of the first waves of Night Lords taken from Nostramo before it started being just any random criminal or street rat being let in, and he is super elitist about it.

How they feel about themselves and how it affects their behavior: 

He has a moderate lisp from the hole in his lip, which he is self-conscious about to the point that he doesn’t speak unless it's necessary.

Self-important, which makes his possessions also important to him. If someone messes with his possessions, they’re messing with him and his image, and he won’t stand for that. Some of the rags of flesh on his armor are from former brothers for this reason.

Fun Facts:

He may hate cleaning up after himself, but he does like tinkering with designs for his armor. He processes the hides and does basic repairs on his own (because, “no one would do them better.”)

Foodie. No, he will not verbally admit to this. Bring him the steak anyway.

Unlike most astartes, he did not change his name after his conversion.

Elias is prideful of a family he doesn't even really remember (after everything he went through to become a space marine) and who now are long dead. He has shaped his entire identity over being the best of what Nostramo could offer. If he lets go of his pride, he has nothing. No identity, no reason. Nothing.

Due to the above, when Nostramo was destroyed in 984.M30, he defected from the Night Lords. His face has not been seen since.

I wasn't going to drop this until after the series was finished, but I have been so busy with college recently that I don't know when that will be. I hope you enjoyed.

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual 

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender @historitor-bookshelf

@sharenadraculea @remembrancer-of-heresy @avggendelmain @cannibalise

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 129 }

sleeping to dream about you.

(p)inocchio x reader

{ fell out of bed, butterfly bandage, but don't worry | you'll never remember, your head is far too blurry }

"pinocchio! where are you going?!"

your voice calls out to the automaton with dark locks of chestnut hair. a storm was brewing in krat, and the needle like rain that was felt pelting against your skin was making it harder for you to breathe.

you were chasing after him, watching his back as he kept on retreating even further away from you. your heart was hammering within the confines of your throat, filling you with a sense of despair.

because you knew that the moment pinocchio left you, then you would never see him again.

you tried to chase after him, but his figure forever remained just a mere inches away from your grasps; and each time you called out to him, you found that your voice grew smaller and smaller in tone. it became much worse when you were suddenly rendered unable to speak.

with a helpless cry, you continue to chase after him, reaching out to him with a desperation felt festering within the deepest depths of your soul-

you wake up with a gasp, suddenly finding yourself at the edge of the bed, with your arms flailing precariously as you lost your balance. seeming to sense your distress, pinocchio sits up from his spot in bed.

his calm voice calls out to you, but it was too late. you were already making your descent, falling out of bed with the least amount of poise you could muster. yet before your back could meet with the harsh coldness of the marble floors, pinocchio manages to place you within his embrace.

the puppet ends up taking the brunt of the fall, with you resting against his cold, hard chest. a grunt of pain manages to escape from your parted lips, and you felt the blood rushing through your ears while struggling to focus.

for the longest time, you and pinocchio just remained settled on the floor of your shared bedroom, your beloved puppet not saying a word. you could feel his non-legion hand gently caressing at the back of your head when he asks, "what's wrong?"

letting out a shaky sigh of his name, you meet with pinocchio's gaze, relishing in the true blue quality of it before gently touching at the freckles that littered his cheek. "it's nothing, love. you might think it's stupid."

he says nothing, merely placing a hand behind your head while holding you close. you could feel his body twitching in response, his soft voice telling you, "it isn't nothing. you looked genuinely terrified the moment you fell out of bed."

you cling to him, hiding your face within his chest before admitting to him. "i had a nightmare that you left; that you had gone somewhere... a place i knew i could never follow you to."

the last sentence comes out in a whisper, as if your fears would come into fruition the moment you said those thoughts aloud. yet pinocchio remains the same as ever, never once letting you out of his surprisingly gentle embrace.

after a few bouts of silence, he finally spoke.

"i'm still here."

"i know."

"i'm not going anywhere."

"i know."

"i won't leave you because you need me... and i need you."

his sudden confession makes you lift your head to look at him- really look at him as you caught sight of his phantom smile, being so small that you would have missed it had it not been for the fact that you knew pinocchio like the back of your hand.

he was kind and loving;

and him being a mere puppet would never change that.

when he sees you returning his smile, pinocchio picks you up while standing back to his full height. not daring to even let you go, he keeps his arms gently wrapped around your form, pushing up the covers of the bed before laying back down on it with you in his loose embrace.

your heart began to race slightly, feeling drowsy once more as you cuddled closer to him.

"pinocchio...?"

"hm?"

"thank you, i love you."

with those words lingering in the air, you finally fell back asleep, feeling pinocchio's cool lips pressing against your forehead as proof that he had heard every single word that you said.

a.n. - i have missed writing for lop!pinocchio so much! 🥹 this isn't anything fancy, but i hope you readers enjoy it all the same ♡

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[transalphabf]

Post 666

in honour of my 666th post on this blog i think you all deserve some devillish porn

Finding yourself bound to an altar, your legs and arms cuffed in cold iron, splaying your cunt to the cool air of the moonlit night, terror grasped you.

The chanting around you was enough to make you feel fear, but the air seemed to extinguish for a moment, after their voices reached a fever pitch. You realised you were no longer alone in the summoning circle you had awoken in.

Before you stood a monstrous figure. Goat headed, large scaled wings rising behind it, you clamped your mouth shut, not wanting to scream and force its attention on you.

Your head whipped to the side when you heard gurgling noises around you, and the robed figures dropped down one by one, until the only sound that remained was your own breath coming in quick puffs, and the low, heavy breathing of the demon before you.

With a huff, the metal dropped away from your wrists and ankles, and you hesitantly sat up. The creature watched you, scarlet eyes gleaming in the light of the full moon, before offering you a hand.

“Come with me, and you shall wear a crown. Come with me, and be the bearer of my spawn, you shall live a life of luxury, that which you had not imagined.” It- no, he said. You swallowed. “You shall wish for nothing, and I am bound to this mortal plane for as long as you are, so no harm shall fall upon you.”

Your hand shakily reached out, and he took it in his own, warm, large hand. A spike of arousal ran down to your cunt just from that touch.

“We shall consummate here, and then depart for our new home.” He informed you. Your eyes ran down, unsure what awaited you, but his enormous cock throbbed before you, and you had an idea of what it would be.

He knelt down, and a long, dextrous tongue left his snout, toying with your clit, before pressing into your cunt, lapping at your tight hole, pressing deeper, licking places that you could never have imagined being touched by anything but the largest of cocks. You came pretty quickly, shaking, gripping his large curved horns as you felt the tip of his tongue run against your cervix, and press into your g-spot simultaneously.

It was almost too much, so when he lay you back on the cold stone altar, resting his cock over your stomach, so you could see how deeply filled you’d be, your mind was too stricken with lust to realise that it would end up directly in your womb.

But perhaps that’s what his tongue had been preparing you for.

He pressed in, corrupting your formerly pure body with his hellishly hot cock, inch after thick agonising inch searing you from the inside, forcing you to cum just from the flared head bumping against your g-spot on its way to batter your cervix.

When finally the tip pressed insistently on your cervix, you were mewling and making the most unholy noises.

His goatlike nostrils flared, and with a rough, hard thrust, his enormous cock breached your cervix and began fucking your womb right away, his clawed hands gripping your hips, drawing blood a little from how hard he held you.

Not that you minded.

Your mind was filled only with the pleasure, and the idea of him filling your womb with his corrupting seed, becoming his infernal broodmare, giving him a legion of demonic children, being his pleasure toy day and night.

You came again, and again, as he fucked you for what seemed to be hours, and as the sun began to rise, when your womb could take no more and your body on the verge of giving out from pleasure, you felt his cum pour into your womb, his enormous cock pulsing the thick rivulets into your womb, knowing that without a doubt he was impregnating you.

Which just served to make you cum once more.

After that point, you lost consciousness, but awoke in a fine bed, with black silk sheets and a soreness that you couldn’t place.

Was it a dream?

The figure lying beside you was a handsome man, dark hair, a goatee which should have looked out of place, but seemed to suit his slumbering face.

There was no denying it though, this was the more human form of the demon that corrupted you.

With a smirk, you sought to touch his cock, and it began to harden as you lined it up to ride your demonic master.

https://ko-fi.com/sigtryggr if this post made you cum, please consider supporting or tipping me via ko fi

[malleusthehammer]

Hi! Can you please do a Qin Shi Huang and Lu Bu with a female s/o that plays the Guzheng/Zither.

Guzheng looks like this, it was made in the Qin dynasty by a general. It’s had 21 strings and you use nails that are made out off plastic, resin, tortoiseshell, or ivory to pluck the strings. The strings are made out of steel strings flat wound with nylon.

This is the song that she plays, it’s a hard song to master too. Feel free to ignore if it is too much, thank you!

DUDE THIS ASK IS SO COOL?! I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO GET TO IT!! Again, i am a sucker for Qin so he will be written for!!! I hope you enjoy this!!

Qui Shi Huang and Lu Bu with a reader that plays the Guzheng/Zither. Warnings: None! Type: Drabbles!

You didn't play often, you found it a bit extra when you played. Knowing it was such a hard instrument to play, you hated the attention it gave you when you played it. Qin knew this, but he adores it so much when you play. He'll often try and say he had a bad day, or that he needs a stress reliver. And of course, you can't say no to this man. Since he had coaxed you into playing for him, he made sure you both were secluded and comfy.

He plopped down on the shared bed, the pitcher of wine crowding the table next to bed. You set the guzheng up, sitting on the bench that accompanied it. You took a deep breath before popping your fingers and placing them gently on the strings. Your eyes closed as your fingers danced across the strings. The melody filled the spacious room, Qin's fingers tapped along his thigh with it.

Your fingers moved on their own, plucking the strings and sending beautiful music out in the air. Once you had finished, you sighed contently. Soft clapping filled the silence as you turned on the bench to face your husband. His smile was never wider as he clapped. Almost like a proud father, he stood from the bed, holding his arms out to you.

"That was lovely, Dear! You'll play more often for me?"

He gently caressed your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it.

Lu Bu never really knew you played. He knew you had hobbies and stuff, but never really paid that close attention. When he would go train for extended periods, you'd stay home and practice. Same when he would watch the legions of people that followed him train. One day he been gone for a while with his horse, so you took the time to set up the guzheng outside. It was a beautiful day afterall.

You had no clue when your husband would be back, his schedule was too erratic in your opinion. But you knew he was safe, that's why you married him in the first place. Well, first it was his personality. The way he held himself so high made you admire him. If he was by himself, you knew no one would even dare to challenge him.

As you finished setting up the instrument, you were quick to sit down in the bright grass Infront of it. You bit your lip and closed your eyes. A strong gust of breath left our lungs as you opened your eyes again. Your fingers pranced over the strings like tiny ballerinas, sending beautiful melodies into the sky. You lost yourself in the music, moving your hands across the instrument delicately.

Little did you know that Lu Bu and his general, Chen Gong were on the way back. Lu Bu was picking his teeth with his pinky and Chen talked on and on about something that the champion didn't care for. The noise of the guzheng reached the ears of the men, a smirk appeared on Lu Bu's face. They approached the yard you were playing in, watching you from afar. The Champion put his hands on his hips, taking a deep breath in with a smile.

"Ahaha! That's my wife/husband right there!"

HJUYGJUYG okay i am SO SO SOS SO sorry for the wait!! i really hope you enjoyed it and thank you for putting some new music in my playlist lmao THE GUZHENG IS SO MAJESTIC I WANNA EAT IT!!!

[phonydiaries]

Target Practice - P x Reader

Warnings: reader getting the absolute shit kicked out of them by enemies and a significant amount of blood and violence. Other than that, nothing I think? 

---

The cold hard clang of your steel blade hitting the marble column rings through the courtyard. 

Off target. 

You’re fucking off target, again.

You step back, try to redistribute the weight of the weapon in your hands. Your palms are sweaty, your grip becoming loose and clumsy. You blink hard, eyes trained on the dummy. Somehow in its blank expression you see pity. Mockery. The knowledge that for all your effort, it's not enough. 

You’re not strong enough. 

Anger rises to a rolling boil in the pit of your stomach. You slash the dummy across its felted chest. It’s a poor hit, sloppy and devoid of form. You’ve been at this for hours, hacking away fruitlessly in the courtyard. You wince and bring a hand to quell the stinging pain in your side. Under your clothes you know the skin is still raw; all rust-colored and lacerated. It was that very wound which led you to this obsessive over-exertion in the first place. 

Three nights past you had very nearly perished in the arms of Gepetto’s puppet. 

In your half-conscious delirium, you hardly remember all the details of the mission gone impossibly wrong. You and P had stalked into the night together, watching each other's backs carefully. There were the typical dust-ups, mundane scrapes and bruises and otherwise totally expected snags. None of this phased you, it was standard fare. But somewhere in the now fluid and tenuous events of that night, you got careless. You must’ve. How else would you find yourself backed into a corner, disarmed, swarmed by a legion of damnable automatons. This piece of the memory is both vivid and obscured, bits and pieces of sensation overwhelming in their clarity and others entirely lost to you. You have no idea how many times you were struck or with what manner of weaponry. 

You recall curling in on yourself on the ground, arms twisting above your head in a desperate attempt at self preservation. And then all at once there was a mad chaos surrounding you. The air crackled with electricity, brazen sparks of light, the smell of smoke, a horrible crunch of faulty machinery. Your head pulsed dully as a cold arm slipped around your torso and heaved you upright. White hot pain shot through your body and you cried out in the darkness. Your eyes wavered open long enough to catch P, looking as grim as you had ever seen him, carefully scooping you up, your legs dangling limp over his human arm. 

The journey to Hotel Krat was one which you were almost certain you would not live to see the end of. For starters, your hands and feet had gone utterly numb, probably thanks to the outpouring of blood from your abdomen, which ran thick and viscous down the front of P’s shirt as he carried you. The parts of your body that could still feel throbbed with a terrible searing pain and you longed for a spell of unconsciousness. This was in fact soon to come, after a ghastly cough which left the metallic taste of iron in your mouth and even more bloodstains on your poor companion’s clothes. As your vision faded you only mumbled to him, 

“Sorry… Oh God, I’m sorry…” 

You were bedridden for the better half of two days, floating in and out of consciousness like a specter. Flashes of things from that night, dreamlike and watery, come back to you, pilling at the edges of your mind. P bursting through the doors of Krat in a frenetic panic, your head lolling against his chest, your body shivering relentlessly from loss of blood. The marble floors of the hotel were stained a deep crimson. You recall Sophia rushing to meet you both, communicating with P in some way you couldn’t understand either due to the nonverbal nature of it or of the way your head swam every time you opened your eyes. Somehow you were brought to your room, and faintly recall the dressing of your wounds, a feeling of coolness on your forehead, some herbal concoction being held to your mouth, its contents warm and sweet. 

Though most of those days were spent in a deep and cavernous slumber, when you were lucid enough to open your eyes, to perceive the room around you, you’re certain that Pinocchio had never left your side. With each foggy fragment, there he knelt at your bed; brows knitted and hands clasped over his mouth as he leaned forward on his elbows. A thoughtful intensity had overcome him, and in this posture, he seemed almost to be praying. 

He doesn’t know what to do with me. You thought to yourself. He knows now how easily I’m broken.

In the brief moments Pinocchio could be pulled from your side, Sophia took gentle inspection and inventory of your condition. In one such instance you suddenly found yourself tearful, frustration and guilt wracking the whole of your being. Sophia attempted comfort and assured you it was not out of weakness that you had landed yourself bleak and bloodied in this bed, that it wasn’t a fair fight, that this could’ve happened to anyone. But it didn’t. It happened to you. You who were charged to accompany Pinocchio in all his ventures. You who were meant to be his trusted companion, his ally, his protector when it was required of you. He was made of magic after all, and you were only a mere human. Expendable. You’d failed him. 

Yesterday was the first time you had even managed to stand since it all happened. You walked barefoot in pyjamas through the hotel, searching for P in silence. The cold marble is a shock to the soles of your feet and you wrap your arms around yourself at the draft that ripples beneath the loose fitting silk sleepclothes. When you finally catch sight of him in the library tucked between the towering shelves, your throat goes completely dry and tight. Your eyes feel glassy. You can’t face him knowing how he last saw you, making a fool of yourself. A sorry excuse for a soldier. 

That evening it was impossible to bring yourself to dream. Thoughts ruminated, their thorned and gnarled roots delving deep into the recesses of your restless sleep. In the darkness, you change clothes and take your weapons from their holding place and head for the garden. You wanted to blow off steam at first, just clear your head. But as you night crept slowly into dawn, hues of blue and indigo shifting into a brilliant orange, here you still stood. Haggard and weary in the garden with callouses burning into your palm. Fixation on failure had poisoned you. 

You were exhausted. The wear of such exercise would’ve been present even in your normal physical condition, but the presence of deep yellowing bruises and disrupted gashes along your limbs made it all the more wretched. You would not allow your body even a moment of peace. How could you quit now? How when your mind still ran rampant and relentless?

You glare at the dummy before you with pointed bitterness. With a groan you slice wildly across its throat, and the lifeless head tumbles into the grass. Your shoulders slump forward at the weight of your sword. You stare at the head, rolling to a stop. Hair falls over your eyes in an unkempt curtain and you find it difficult to catch your breath. Some stalker I am. You think to yourself. 

You’re drawn out of the ever-tangled web of self-pity by a feeling of being watched. You throw a glance over your shoulder, and there he is. Your trusted Pino. 

You feel sick.

At the knowledge of his presence, you straighten up your posture and readjust your clothes. It’s pointless, you know, but still. You don’t want him seeing you like this. You attempt to coolly smooth your hair back and acknowledge him with a nod, not knowing what to say. The two of you stand, shifting your weights awkwardly, in a permeating silence. 

P is the first to attempt conversation, pointing in the direction of your bedroom, his face portraying confusion. 

“Ah. I’m fine now.” You lie, poking absentmindedly at the ground with your weapon. “Sophia gave me some… something or other. I’m right as rain.” 

P doesn’t look convinced, and he shouldn’t be. You were knocking on Death's door not 48 hours ago. You hadn’t forgotten he was the one to lug your delirious self for miles, pale and languid and spurting blood. It's a service for which you’re afraid he can never be repaid. He reaches for your hand, but you flinch away. His eyes flash with something deeply sad and your heart crumbles. 

You’re being cruel.

But you can’t accept his help anymore; he can’t keep offering you these undeserved kindnesses. You want to say sorry, not just for swatting him away, but for everything. For not being more careful, for causing him so much worry, for putting both your lives at risk. But you don’t. Instead you turn your back to him and kick up dirt. 

“You can just go back inside, P.” 

Your face feels hot and you wonder if you’re really going to cry with him still standing there. As salty tears pool at the corner of your eye, you feel a sharp prick in your back. You yelp and whip your head around to find P now equipped with his rapier, holding it to your back. You lift your sword reflexively in return.

“I’m not in the mood for-” You start, but are cut off as he crosses his weapon with yours. Your eyes scan from the hilt of his rapier to meet his eyes, which narrow at you. The corner of his mouth is lifted just barely in an inviting and appetitive smirk. You resist returning the look, which disappoints him. You give in just a little and draw your weapon to his chest. Now his expression is broken into a full blown boyish smile. It’s almost enough to lure you out of yourself. Almost. 

The duel begins between the two of you at a crawling pace; there’s a kind of thoughtfulness to your movements. You size one another up as if this were the first time your swords had crossed and not an uncountable thousandth. Your steps are in orbit with each other, methodical, calculated. His gaze is unrelenting and makes something in your chest twinge. 

You catch even yourself off guard by striking first, but of course he’s able to parry it easily, shaking the rhythm of your movement. He slashes back at you and your blade catches his, just barely, as it slides away with a ring. A minute inkling of pride swells in you. 

You’re surprised at how quickly things between the two of you seem to realign; it’s all in an ebb and flow, but it's good. It’s real, this energy you feel in practice with him.You’re struck suddenly with the thought that the simple act of sparring could never feel so -you can’t think of a better word for it than- spiritual with anyone but him. The bond you’ve cultivated, held and protected between yourselves is inimitable, ritualistic in a sense. A private and intimate practice between you and he. 

By the time the sun descends into the horizon, casting its shadows deep across the garden walls, the two of you have succeeded in making an absolute mess of the space and of yourselves. The dummies have become innocent casualties to the line of fire, and several rose bushes hang limply in ribbons, their crimson petals strewn about carelessly. As for you; your hair is whipping across your face, clothes rumpled. You’d both thrown off your coats a while ago, the practice making you sweat. You move wildly in tandem with the puppet, each of you equally stubborn not to crack. It was endearing, you had to admit, the competitive streak in your trusted companion. But your iron will would win out in the end. 

At the very edge of the courtyard where two walls meet, you face P, your mouth set sternly in a straight line, brow furrowed in concentration. You’ve been waiting for him to falter this whole time. Unfortunately as a puppet he seems far less prone to such follies as a mere mortal like yourself. However, he’s also less accustomed to common human tricks. With only the tiniest bit of guilt, you widen your eyes and drop your jaw, gesturing behind the boy in front of you. You watch his immovable expression twitch and his eyes follow the sharp line of your finger. 

And with that, your window is open.

With a well timed flick of your sword, you disarm your opponent, and his rapier clatters to the ground. The tip of your blade rests firmly at the center of his chest. 

P’s head spins to look back at you, his face awash with betrayal. You can’t help smiling. It was so stupid, so juvenile, so unbelievably oldest-trick-in-the-book that you honestly can’t believe it worked. But that doesn’t matter. You’ve won. 

P’s face drops and he shakes his head at your victory, but you see the glimmer of a grin beneath it all. He’s happy to see you like your old self again. 

“Oh cheer up, poor puppet boy.” You say, a lilt in your voice. You inch forward and draw your weapon up to the collar of his shirt. It wilts at the touch of your sword and his pale freckled collarbone is just barely exposed. “Better luck next time.”

Your eyes flicker back to his face and you’re surprised to find it softened into an expression even you don’t recognize. It’s watery, shifty and an utter mystery to you. His attentions seem to play tug of war between you and your weapon. You quirk an eyebrow quizzically, but he offers you no answers. You feel something akin to annoyance towards him, as if he’s being purposefully coy with you. Almost absentmindedly, your blade draws an invisible thread away from the dip of his collarbones to his throat. 

You watch, waiting for him to flinch. He doesn’t. Instead, the strait of his jaw settles against the blade of your sword. His eyes close and he looks as if he’s sinking into a warm embrace rather than cold hard steel. Despite the warmth of exertion, you feel a shiver run down your spine. A prickling curiosity rises in you. Experimentally, you tilt the blade gently against the square of his jaw. He lifts his chin in response, leaving his throat vulnerable to your will. The pieces click in  your mind. It’s a display of trust; of total devotion. He’s putting himself in your hands, and you want to grasp at him greedily. 

His beauty is intimidating, looking nothing short of an angel in the firelight of the setting sun. The orange glow bounces from your sword in a soft line that settles over his face, and the waning sunlight catches the edges of his pitch dark hair like a halo. Deep shadows of violet are cast beneath his brow, giving his eyes the appearance of two precious stones hewn into living rock. 

You feel yourself impossibly drawn to him in the heat of the moment. You attempt to maintain your coolness, and lower the blade. You do this slowly, savoring each minute movement as he lowers his head to meet your gaze. You open your mouth to speak but no words fall from your parted lips. Your hand twitches around your weapon and you toss it to the ground. It’s much too heavy to hold suddenly. 

You step forward. Pino steps back. His back is pressed flat against the marble wall now. 

Fuck. 

Your heart pounds beneath your ribcage and you wonder if he can hear it, that desperate thudthudthud. The sight of him proves too overwhelming. Your mind is no longer flooded with doubts of your strength, of his care for you, of your deep bond. Fuck it all. You need him like air. 

In one swift motion your hand is at the back of his head, your fingers instantly lost in the mess of ravens-feather curls. Your mouths crash together clumsily, though you hardly care. Your free hand scrambles to find his waist and you pull him close against your body. 

Against your lips you feel his breath. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a whine is pulled from his mouth and you feel weightless as it echoes in your mind. You break your point of connection and hold his chin firmly in your palm. Gentle handling doesn’t come easy to you. This all feels like a long time coming, you realize. Perhaps this fire was lit long before you had the words for it. Before you ever had a chance of keeping it buried in your chest. Instead now it overcomes you. 

With his face held tenderly in your hand, you admire each striking feature like a work of art. He does have a certain greek statuesque quality after all. His lids look heavy, dark lashes fluttering. The spread of freckles across his nose is illuminated by a subtle but undeniable ruddy pink. 

You can feel his eyes on you now, as if he just woke from a dream, stepping into awareness again. He flinches towards you, but stops himself, mouth slightly agape in anticipation. You wonder if he has the capacity for nervousness. The thought is sort of charming. You sweep a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Any day now, tin man.” You tease.

And before you have time to yelp, you find yourself in the dewey grass with a dully aching head. Pinocchio’s legion arm comes into focus, pressed palm-down into the patch of earth beside your head. Your eyes travel up the arm until you’re face to face with the puppet again. You’re stunned. His human hand drags along your cheek and the ends of his dark hair brush against your face. Your face flushes and you feel stupid; he doesn’t seem to mind. He recaptures you in a kiss and you feel yourself melt into the ground. 

Soon your hand is lost in his hair again, your fingertips dragging along the back of his neck. You’re so tempted to leave an imprint on the fair skin of his neck, to temporarily marr his delicate appearance. God, what would Sophia and the others think? You opt for a less visual approach and tug at the back of his head. Pino’s shoulders tense in surprise, and as you take a moment to breathe you catch his brows creasing together, eyes fluttering shut. Did you just send a shiver down the poor puppets spine? 

Your hand retains its firm grasp at the base of his skull and you press your foreheads together. His skin is cool and smooth and feels to you like fresh air. You soak in the feeling and begin a ritualistic repositioning of limbs until you’re straddling his lap, elbows propped up on his sturdy shoulders, your palms cradling his freckle-flecked face. His arms are anchored around your waist and you have to lean down to meet him. The look he gives you is nothing short of intoxicating, all needy eyes and shallow breath.

God, you feel drunk. 

The fingers of his legion arm twitch and you feel them slip just barely beneath the hem of your shirt. You place one hand over his, about to guide it further, give him permission to be less of a gentleman, when something crackles above your head. 

As you listen closely, flecks of rain begin to spatter across your skin. You look up at the sky. The sun has set and in its place hangs a cloud-obscured moon and a flash of blue lightning across the stars. In an instant, rain pours over you, cold and heavy. P raises his arm to cover his head and offers the other to you. Scrambling to stand with the wet grass beneath your feet, you loop your arm through his. You stumble forward and feel a laugh bubble forth from your mouth. You didn’t even know it was there. Pinocchio tips his head at you, puzzled, but you’re dizzy and hot and the rain feels good and cold on your aching muscles and your head is still reeling with the taste of him on your tongue and you laugh all the way through the courtyard and the entryway until you collapse against the wall. 

Once you’re both inside, P examines your face, tipping it every which way as if ensuring you haven’t lost your mind. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you choke between lingering bouts of snickering. You shake your head. It feels as though you’ve been thrown into a hurricane of emotional and physical extremes and are only now finding your footing again in normalcy. The relief makes you lightheaded. Pino acts as your trusted lifeline, firmly holding you in place at the waist. As you stand dripping in the corridor, you realize you haven’t really spoken since the night of the ambush. 

“I never thanked you.” You start, “For keeping me alive, I mean. If it weren’t for you finding me…” His face falls completely as you trail off, eyes becoming dark and stormy. He must hate thinking about it. The realization makes you a bit embarrassed. Your gaze darts to the ground. “I just um. I wish I could repay it.” And as you say it, with your face still in his hands, he presses a kiss to your dewey forehead. It warms you from the inside. Your hand finds his and you squeeze tight. 

“Come on.” you murmur against his ear. You pull at your soaked-through clothes and gesture down the hall.  “I’ve got to get out of these clothes.” 

And with that, you lead him away to your room.

[poppitron360]

Raise your hand if you have a million bajillion works-in-progress!!!

Because I sure as hell do.

Anyway, I want to see which ones I should prioritise, so I’m doing a poll. Out of the 97 fic concepts i have in the vault, all with varying levels of completion, I have narrowed it down to 12 (the max number of poll options on Tumblr).

Please Vote!

Category 1- ANGST:

1. Ok not too many spoilers for this one but it’s SUPER angsty. All I can say is Leo faces a very creative punishment from Nemesis for cheating the prophecy and coming back to life, and it’s called “The only sad person in paradise” (undertones of Valgrace).

2. Leo deals with coping with the trauma of dying. LOT of angsty headcanons, including one where the design for the chb bead for the summer hoo is set in was the moment of Leo’s death. And he just has to keep that around his neck the whole time, and it’s chocking him. The opening line is “Every so often, Leo needed to remind himself that his heart was still beating.”

3. A curse befalls camp half-blood that’s slowly reversing the effects of their powers. Hecate cabin’s spells are being undone, plants are un-growing, arms healed by Apollo cabin are re-breaking. Magic is being unwound, and then Leo’s body starts to ache, and he realises… does that include a certain Physician’s Cure?

Category 2- VALGRACE

4. Platonic Valgrace (Romance implied)- “Never go to bed angry”- Leo and Jason have an argument on the Argo II. Jason thinks Leo won’t understand him because he’s never had to live up to the expectations of leadership that come with being a child soldier. Leo thinks Jason won’t understand him because he’s never had to fend for himself, he believes everything Jason has is because of who his father is. They storm off (Jason in the literal sense), argue with themselves for a bit- I did a really cool thing where I switch POVs every line or so, as their arguments parallel each other, like in a TV show where two characters are rehearsing a conversation with the other, but using the HOO multiple-POV thing- and then they go to sleep. They both have weird vision/flashbacks/prophetic dreams, where they experience a day in the other’s childhood. They then realise they completely misunderstood one another, and they’re not as different as they thought.

5. Jason and Leo go to New York pride. That’s the whole fic.

6. Instead of… whatever that ending to BOO was, the Gods reward Leo for his sacrifice by bringing Esperanza Valdez back to life. She thanks Jason for taking care of Leo while she was gone, and they have a heart-to-heart. They are officially boyfriends in this. Jason keeps being reminded of his own reunion with Thalia, and how Leo had stayed with him through that. He vows to do the same.

Category 3- MARRIED VALGRACE:

7. Leo and Jason get married (A classic “Wedding Episode”)

8. Just a fic describing married life with Leo and Jason- it’s called “Violets and Marigolds”

9. A fic from the POV of Leo and Jason’s kid, Isabella Valdez. Some angst, but I don’t have the full plot outlined yet. She’s adopted, and they don’t know her true godly heritage, and Leo suspects she might be mortal, and maybe Lupa made a mistake. Leo and Jason argue over whether she should join the Legion (They’re living in New Rome). Leo struggles with his fear of hurting the people he loves with his powers.

Category 4- MISCELLANEOUS:

10. Platonic Perleo- Percy and Leo get captured by government agents and have to escape Area 51 (Vaguely inspired by an episode of Helluva Boss)- VERY NERDY. This is a very fun one.

11. Leo talks to Hestia about… life, I guess. I started writing this while still on TLH and never found an ending, but it’s a good concept. Leo learns to accept his powers as something that can be good, when he only sees the bad. Hestia tells him “If fire was only about danger and destruction, then it would be the symbol of Ares, not Hephaestus.”

12. Thalia, Luke and Annabeth find little Leo while on the run. Leo and Annabeth bond over engineering. Luke tries to use Leo’s trauma as leverage to get Leo angry at the Gods. He tries to put the blame of Leo’s mom’s death on Hephaestus, since he’s responsible for giving Leo his powers. He points out how the Gods are all-powerful, and yet they leave the four of them- their own children- to starve on the streets. Leo in canon harbours a lot of resentment for his situation growing up, and Luke could easily spin that to justify his own anger.

Tagging people who might be interested:

@four-leafed-queer-gal @lavenderfairiez @child-of-helios @green-tea217 @puzzled-pegasus @imasimpdealwithit @123letsgobestie @ginnyluna @euryvices @ollieisanerd @sleepyycapybara @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @keefessketchbook @frankzhang-appreciation-posts @hollow8007 @fairytalesociology @via-rant @daonedaonlyskh

If you have any suggestions for things to add to these fics- leave them in the comments. A lot of these I’ve struggled to flesh out/find endings for. Any help is much appreciated and you will be tagged in the fic if I use it.

Also, Lmk if you want to be tagged in any/all of these!

[lifeweaverspeach]

Things I would love to see in Lies of P DLC

(I should be asleep or writing rn idc)

New type/s of enemies (honestly human-puppet hybrids would be so cool) poor people tho

Longer hair for P

Specter weapon(?), as in like some star weapon or something, something inspired by the butterflies and stargazers would be cool too

ROMEO IS BROUGHT BACK PLS I MISS HIM SO MUCH LET HIM MAKE OUT WITH P/CARLO

Renewed Hotel Krat

More stuff on Carlo's and Romeo backstory

Perhaps updated outfits for our friends (optional)

Perhaps Krat not being so destroyed(?), wouldn't mind being able to walk around and explore it but I am definitely not expecting it

Obvious things that are to be expected:

New weapons

New outfits

New legion arms

Expanded lore on the characters we already know

[nevesmose]

Nostraman Nature Sucks: An Attempted Lore Post

Ave dominus nox Night Lords fans. I thought I'd take some time to go through the various NL stories I have to hand and see what I could find out about the animals that lived on Nostramo. Might come in useful for something, who knows?

Sharks and Whales

As a child, on several coastal journeys with his father, he had witnessed the eyeless barrasal sharks that would group together to hunt the great whales of the open ocean. (Night Lords Trilogy)

His voice filters into something savage and predatory, as hungry as the eyeless white sharks of Nostramo’s blackest depths. (The Long Night)

Not a big surprise since they talk about them fairly often and have the Space Sharks as a successor chapter but Nostramo does have sharks. Pretty gnarly-sounding sharks if I'm honest.

I didn't know what "barrasal" meant, so I looked it up and only found one thread on r/40klore that had the same quote in it as above. Hmm.

Assuming it's not a typo or a more straightforward reference to something I'm just not getting, I'd venture a guess that barrasal, understood here to mean of or relating to "barras" like with "abyssal" could be connected to the French Revolutionary leader Paul Barras who is mostly remembered for supporting Napoleon's rise to power before being overthrown by him.

So maybe the older barrasal sharks will make use of younger ones as temporary hunting partners only to be inevitably betrayed and consumed by them. Sounds about right I think.

As for the whales, where do I even begin? I would imagine they're "whales" in name only like in Dishonored:

This does imply the possible existence of a whaling industry at some stage in Nostramo's history, though.

Crows

Jago reached into his pockets, offering a handful of breadcrumbs. Come, he said to the crows. Food for tonight. Flesh, flesh, flesh, they called back. He laughed as several of the black birds landed on his shoulders and outstretched arm. (Prince Of Crows)

‘Yes. I’ve seen them in books. Is a crow a type of bird?’ ‘Black of feather and dark of eye. It feeds on the bodies of the dead, and sings in a raw, croaking caw.’ (TLN)

Breaking news - legion that keeps referring to crows in shocking has crows on its homeworld scandal. "This is outrageous," said local Nostraman cutpurse and skin disease enthusiast Verxaglryn Quickstabber, "here we are trying to make a good name for Nostramo as a respectable hellhole, a place you'd be proud to exile your worst enemy to, and yet we're surrounded by some of the most intelligent and curious birds in existence. I was shanking someone in a back alley the other night and suddenly I saw a crow learning how to use rudimentary tools! Not on my watch, I said to the rapidly cooling body, and I threw my shiv at it. But it just flew away." At this point Mr Quickstabber was obliged to end the interview due to having been eviscerated by the Night Haunter.

I know their communication with Sevatar is happening in a dream but I really like the idea of the crows adapting to Nostramo by developing some kind of psychic hive mind that's also able to be understood by human psykers.

Crag Cougars

A beast of my home world. When next you see one of the Atramentar, look to their shoulder guards. The roaring lions on their pauldrons are what we called crag cougars on Nostramo. It was considered a mark of wealth for gang bosses to be able to leave the cities and hunt such creatures. (NLT)

Every single one of them is Scar from the Lion King, isn't it? An interesting hint about Nostramo's geography though, of which more later.

Rats

Groundcars whisked by, headlights brighter than deep-hive rats’ eyes, the occupants snug and safe behind armoured glass. (Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter)

No surprises here either. Where there's people there's rats after all.

Something with tusks?

The older Astartes grinned, wolf-like and keen, as the Atramentar either side of the Exalted’s throne growled through their tusked helms. (NLT)

This isn't that conclusive because a lot of Chaos Terminators have tusks no matter what legion they are, but Nostramo being Nostramo they probably belonged to a species of giant carnivorous mammoth that ate babies and sprayed acid from its trunk.

Cows? On My Sunless World?

‘They are still of standard human stock, and not to be mourned. What does it matter if the cattle fear the herdsman?’ hissed Krukesh the Pale. (KC:TNH)

This one's a real reach on my part as it's very likely just a turn of phrase, but I noticed it because wouldn't it be slightly more typical to use a sheep metaphor here? Plus it supports the existence of Nostraman cowboys/ranchers/vaqueros which is fun.

No bats?

His helmet bore a new, spread batwing crest in blatant imitation of Sevatar’s own. (A Safe and Shadowed Place)

A sole space was neat: a circle around an iron lectern fashioned in the form of a bat’s outflung wings, which carried a heavy book bound in human skin. (KC:TNH)

Although they appear a lot in the VIII legion's iconography and artwork, oddly enough I wasn't actually able to find a direct reference to Nostramo itself having bats. Let's cover my ass by saying this aspect might therefore have been brought in by the legion's Terran component instead.

Some Nostraman geography

The Hill Folk lived away from the cities, eking out an existence in the mountains. (NLT)

What's worse than living in a Nostraman city? Living on a Nostraman hill, apparently. This seems to just be an idea of ADB's that doesn't come up again but I've always found it quite interesting. Were the Hill Folk as scummy as the City Folk, just with more of a down-home Dukes of Hazzard vibe? Seems likely.

This also supports the idea of Nostramo not being completely urbanised like some Hive Worlds are. In my view its continents might have had a geographical layout a bit like Italy or Scotland where the cities are mainly on the flatter coasts with a more sparsely populated hilly/mountainous interior.

What else? (This part is just me making stuff up so feel free to ignore it. I'm not ADB, I'm not even ADB's hat.)

If the rest of Nostramo's marine life is anything like the sharks and whales then it's fucking terrifying. I would imagine, because it's funny, that a lot of Nostraman food features disgusting industrially-processed fish in some way or another. Like the food in Dishonored but even worse.

Is something wrong, dearest offworld husband? You haven't touched your stale bread, whalemeat and jellied eels.

Since all life on Nostramo seems to be comically carnivorous and aggressive, it would make sense in a 40K kind of way for there to be giant predatory penguins living at one or both of its poles. A bit like the monstrous blind albino penguins HP Lovecraft wrote about.

Last known infrared pict-capture of an early Nostraman settler attempting communication with a juvenile specimen of the native penguin species. There were no survivors.