#sharp and shiny circle au

[crappymixtape]

tangled • part one

PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ all you’ve known your entire life is in the inside of your tower – the brick walls covered in your murals skating around you in a semi-perfect circle, the view from the very top one that would take anyone’s breath away, but how could it be beautiful when you could never leave? that is, until an unexpected someone happens upon your hidden tower and offers you a chance to escape | (  3.2k, tangled AU • fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

S E T M E F R E E, O H I P R A Y 🎶 cowboy take me away, fireswimmer

You were up with the birds, awake as fingers of sunlight slipped through your window and fanned out over the quilt you’d stitched together during the winter months. Spring was coming to an end and the days were growing warmer, enough to probably not need your quilt any longer, and when you stepped out of bed onto the cobblestone floor you felt a buzz of inspiration zip through you.

Maybe it was the way the sun crept through your window or maybe it was the sound of the waterfall rushing just outside the tower, but you wanted so badly to run your fingers through the grass. Hear the way the breeze blew through the trees. Dip your toes in the water and look at the details of a petal up close and–

“Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

Mother’s voice drifted up from the bottom of the tower and you felt your heart hammer in your chest. You’d never asked her to leave the tower before, hadn’t asked her for much honestly, but with your birthday coming up maybe she would make an exception.

Every year, on the eve of your birthday, lights would illuminate the sky. Dancing and swirling among the stars and drifting beneath the moon. Beautiful and sparkling and it happened every single year. Why? You were dying to find out. They weren’t far from the tower, surely she would entertain your request. After all, it was your birthday.

“Rapunzel! I’m not getting any younger down here!”

“Coming, Mother!” you called back and tossed your long, shiny locks up over the hook spun into the roof of the tower. They cascaded down the wall and landed in a spun pile at her feet.

Pulling and pulling and pulling, Mother ascended up to the window inch by inch until she stepped up onto the ledge and into your circular room, “Good morning, dear.”

“Morning, Mother.”

“It’s time to brush your hair dear. I saw on the way up, you’ve got twigs tangled up in the ends. Hardly a way to treat such beautiful locks, my goodness. What do you do all day? Tsk. Just another reason for me to keep you here, you can’t even manage to properly care for yourself.”

A pang of shame hit you square in the chest and you wrapped your arms around your torso, making yourself smaller. Unseen. Unheard.

“Sit,” Mother said pulling up a stool and you did as you were told, sitting on the small surface as she took the chair behind you, brush in hand. “Now sing me our song. You know how much I love it,” she demanded, not asked, and you did as you always did…

Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates' design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.

“That’s my girl,” Mother appraised, running the brush through the ends of your hair and pulling too hard at the end, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Mother…” you started, hesitant, reluctant. Should you ask? She seemed in as good a mood as ever.

“What is it?” she snapped, short. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but something in you pushed. Please, please ask. If you don’t ask we won’t ever know. And you had to know.

“I was thinking–”

“Never a good thing,” Mother teased meanly and you bit your bottom lip between your teeth. Nerves swelling in your chest.

“I was just thinking...tomorrow is my birthday and well–well, there’s something I was hoping we might be able to do.”

Mother hummed in her throat, a sharp thing that held irritation, like you were a pest she couldn’t rid herself of. “And? Rapunzel come now, speak up!”

“And–and I was wondering if you might take me to see the lights at the castle. They’re there every year on my birthday! They can’t be stars…I’ve charted them all and I just…I want to see what they are–”

“The lights?” Mother started to laugh. “The lights? Rapunzel you must be joking.”

“No, I’m not…I’m not joking, Mother I really do want–”

“Truly, how could you think I would just take you–”

“Mother, it’s what I really want! I just want to see the lights!” you shouted, but as soon as the words left your lips you clamped your hands over your mouth. Afraid of what you’d just done.

Mother narrowed her eyes at you, lips firmed into a twisted line, angry and her patience evaporated as she took a step toward you and you shrank again.

“You will never raise your voice at me like that again, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Her voice notched up in volume as she stepped closer to you.

“And I don’t ever want to hear about those lights again, is that clear!”

She was closer still, breath heated and harsh against your cheek.

“Yes, Mother.”

Towering over you, Mother took you by the wrist and roughly pulled you up to her face so that you were inches away, the heat of her words spilling and burning and wicked, “And you will absolutely NEVER, EVER be leaving this tower! Is that clear??”

When you spoke for the final time your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, chest burning with embarrassment and shame and regret. “Yes, Mother.”

Letting go of your wrist, Mother sighed and sank back into her chair, eyes closed and fingers pinching her the bridge of her nose.

“Ugh, now I’m the bad guy.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes hastily with the backs of your hands, trying and scrambling to regain your composure. Afraid to push her even the tiniest bit further. You wished you’d never asked, wished you kept your thoughts to yourself. The lights, your birthday, all of it. Wished you could take it all back.

Clearing your throat you sat back on your stool, curled into yourself as you peered up at Mother sitting her in chair. Impatient. Bothered. Exasperated.

“Mother…” you started tentatively, “I know what I want for my birthday now.”

“And what’s that?” she sighed.

“New paint? The kind made from the shells you once brought me.”

She fixed you with a look, the way you might regard a dog begging for scraps, “Well, now that is a long journey, Rapunzel.”

“Please? I promise not to ask about the lights again,” pressing your hands together you tried to look sorry, thankful, grateful, please.

Mother sighed again, but you held onto hope. “Oh, alright,” she conceded, standing from her chair to gather her things. Surely you couldn't do much damage over a few days. “I’ll be back in three days time. Are you sure you’ll be able to manage without me?” she asked.

You gave her a small smile, “Yes, mother. I’ll be fine.”

“You know I love you,” your mother said, a tight smile pulling at her lips.

“Yes, mother. I love you too,” you murmured.

“I’ll see you a bit, my flower!”

And with that you watched as she descended the tower, your hair in her hands sliding down, down, down to the grass below and off into the open, free, world you wanted so badly to explore, only to stand at your window while Mother disappeared into the vines draped at the edge of the meadow and into…well, unlike you, where ever she wished to go.

I SAID I WANNA TOUCH THE EARTH, I WANNA BREAK IT IN MY HANDS, I WANNA GROW SOMETHING WILD AND UNRULY.

Unbeknownst to you, the path to your freedom lay in the hands of a man just on the other side of the very vines Mother had just stepped through. Well…technically he was a man, but really more boy in the way he held himself. And carried conversation. And continually found himself in trouble because of his inflated ego, but a man nonetheless, holding your freedom.

Flynn Rider, a rogue, a thief, a ruffian. Just over six feet tall with sweeps of dark brown hair, skin like it held all of summer and the sun beneath it, eyes like burnt sugar and dotted in freckles and apparently much faster than he looked.

“RIDER!”

“Sorry, boys, gotta go!”

Flynn crashed through the line of shrubs he’d just hurled himself into and fell out the other side, scrambling to find his footing. He was probably going to regret the decision he’d just made, but that would be a problem for future Flynn Rider.

Patting the satchel at his side he peeked into make sure the contents were still intact and at the sound of thundering hooves picked his pace back up, sprinting through the woods.

It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight, rays of sun shining through canopy and dappling the forest floor with warm sunlight. It would have been even more beautiful if Flynn wasn’t being chased by the King’s guard, but he supposed it was the only option when you’d stolen the crown of the missing princess.

Chest heaving with the effort, he pushed his legs to go faster. Sprinting over fallen logs and thick brambles, wincing but not stopping as they pulled and slashed at the thin fabric of his tunic. He had to find cover before he ran out of breath or else he’d face the gallows.

Again.

It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. He wasn’t murderous or wanted for treason or anything. In fact, he wanted to be done with this life on the run and so he hoped this might be his ticket out. Hawk the lost princess’ tiara and hop a boat to somewhere far, far away.

His lungs started to burn as he sucked in air, sidestepping a particularly nasty blackberry bush and earning a scratch across his cheek. “Damn,” he hissed, wincing at the pinch of pain. He could hear the guards closing in behind him, the captain giving orders to his men to split up and Flynn knew his time grew short.

An arrow grazed past his ear as his slammed into a tree, the tip sinking into the bark just inches from his hands.

Too close.

“A promotion to which ever of you idiots catches, Rider!” the captain shouted and it pushed Flynn into another sprint.

Step over step over step, out of the thick stand of trees and into a wide field of wheat. The shhh shhh shhh of the grass against his trousers hissing as he stumbled once on a dirt clod and again on a molehill until the third time he wasn’t so lucky.

The toe of his boot caught on a rock dug into the dirt, sending him flying forward and over the edge of an embankment. Tumbling head over heels down, down, down and hitting the bottom with a heavy THUD!

“Sir! We’ve lost him!”

“What d’you mean you’ve lost him??”

“I–I’m not sure, sir. We–we’ve lost visual.”

“Bloody useless–if you lot can’t find him, then I’ll do it myself!!”

Groaning, Flynn pushed himself up from where he’d landed and blinked away the knock to the head he’d just earned for running through a damn field. Voices carried down the embankment and he could hear the King’s guard scuttling about back up the hill – they didn’t know where he was.

Scrambling back up onto his feet, Flynn quickly checked to make sure the tiara was still in place before frantically looking for an out. He had a moment’s cover while they tried to find him back up at the top, but surely they’d see the bent wheat stalks at some point. The bottom of the gully was more of the same, thick brush and brambles and trees and…vines? All drooping down just above the ground at the same angle and blowing just ever so in the breeze.

Brows knitted together he pushed a hand to them and stumbled forward a bit when his hand fell through them, not solid. So he pushed further still, watching as his arm disappeared further and further until he was completely concealed.

“Sir! We found something!”

Sucking in a gasp, Flynn pressed himself against the rock of the tunnel he’d just discovered and held his breath. The King’s guard tramped down the hill and trotted right past his hiding spot, their shadows dancing across the vines as they concealed him out of sight.

“He’s here somewhere, keep looking!”

The sound of hooves slowly disappeared and when quiet flooded back in, Flynn could hear the sound of a…river? A waterfall? Birds and a soft breeze across his skin…taking a few steps toward the bright light at the other end of the tunnel Flynn shielded his eyes in the crook of his arm and walked out into the most beautiful place he’d ever seen.

A waterfall cascaded down a cliff at the far edge of the little valley he’d wandered into, crashing into the rocks below and fanning out into a river that wound its way through the ground and past his feet. All manner of birds chirped and sang as they flew through the cloudless sky, landing peacefully in the trees. And there, just in the very center, a tower made of brick and cobblestones with a thatched roof, a chimney and windows all around but…no way up?

He knew he couldn’t stay idle, even if he was out of sight for now, surely the King’s guard would find him. Taking one quick loop around the tower, there was still no door in sight, so snatching the pair of daggers from the belt at his waist he stabbed one between the bricks high above his head and pulled to test his weight. When it held he found his footing and drove the second dagger in and arm over arm began to climb up to the largest window.

His biceps were burning, his shoulders on fire. There were a few times Flynn even thought he would surely fall to his death, but slowly he made it up, up, up and when he finally fell through the window gasping for breath, he prayed to whatever gods there may be that he might find a bed at the top of the bloody tower. Stealing a crown, outsmarting two idiot thugs and then running from the King’s guard was no easy feat and he could feel exhaustion in his very bones.

Heaving himself up off the cobblestone floor he loosed a heavy sigh of relief and pushed his hair from his eyes.

“Gods, finally. Alone at last.”

And then with a very loud CLANG! everything went black.

IN THE COMFORT OF YOUR ARMS, ON A PILLOW OF BLUE BONNETS, IN A BLANKET MADE OF STARS, OH, IT SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.

There was a man.

In your tower.

In your room.

AT YOUR FEET.

How he’d made it all the way to the top of the tower without the aide of your hair was beyond you, but as you peeked out at him from behind your mannequin you couldn’t help the tiny pang of guilt in your chest. Maybe you didn’t have to hit him with your frying pan, but it was too late for that now.

You’d never seen one before, only knew what Mother told you: dark, beady eyes and sharp fangs, gnarled hands to snatch you with and kidnap you away into the night.

Stepping out from your hiding place you took a tiny step forward, the smallest step, and poked him with the handle of your pan.

“HEY!” you shouted, but he didn’t move. “Oh, gods…” Did you kill him?

Another few steps and your bare toes nearly brushed his arm. Slowly extending the pan again you turned his head with the handle and nudged his lip, but in place of scary fangs were teeth. Just like yours. Bending down carefully you lifted a hand to his face and hesitated, waiting for something to happen, but his steady breaths continued to fall and his eyes remained shut.

A cut chased across his cheek, the tiniest streak of blood along with it, and your brow furrowed with worry. Did it hurt?

You ghosted your hand over his, just as normal as ever though a bit rough and maybe a little dirty, but wide and warm. Not gnarled. Not scary. You wondered at what it would feel like to hold it, yours so small and his so big.

Slowly, gently, your fingers trailed through the sweep of brown hair covering his face and brushed it aside to reveal mole dotted skin, warm and golden like summer and he’s beautiful. The most wonderful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on and you want to see more and–

“Unghh…”

CLANG!

You instantly regretted hitting him again, but what were you supposed to do? He opened his eyes and began to stir and what if he’d jumped up to grab you?

A groan escapes your lips and you rough your hands over your face, you still have a man in your tower. What to do, what to do. As you took stock of your modest surroundings there wasn't much to work with. Your mannequin, a small stove, things for baking and sewing and painting, your bed, your closet–

Your closet!

Blowing a puff of air between your lips, you bent down and grabbed hold of his feet and pulled a little. When he didn't stir you pulled again. A little more, a little further, a little further and further and straining, struggling almost dropping him, you shoved him into the wardrobe and slammed the doors shut, propping the handles closed with a chair.

“Oh! Oh! I did it!” you squealed, sweat clinging to your brow, giving a little jump of excitement. “I did it!! I’ve got a person in my closet. I’ve got a person in my closet…I’ve got a person in my closet! Mother thinks I’m too weak to handle myself, huh? Well, we’ll just see about that!”

And as you took a victory lap around the room your eyes caught something on the floor. A bag you hadn’t seen before and as it fell open, the contents inside flickered in the light as it came through the cracks in the roof.

Picking up the satchel you pulled back the flap and found something even more beautiful than the man you’d just shoved into your closet.

Gold. Purples and pinks and turquoises and glittering in the sunlight and as you carefully picked it up, you were surprised at how heavy it was. Eyes narrowing, you hold it closer to look at the intricate way the gold pieces twist around the jewels and gems, securing them in place and creating little flowers along the sides.

A smile flickers at the corners of your lips. It looks just like the pictures from your fairytale books. The kind of thing only a princess would wear. Laughing softly you step in front of your mirror and hesitantly hold it up over your head. Just for a moment. Just to see what it would look like…

Slowly, softly you lowered it and let it settle upon your head and a flash of light strikes you. A memory, bright and sharp and vivid. A spinning sun hanging overhead. The most lovely laughter, like music, like a song. A warm embrace. A lullaby.

BANG!

Sounds from the closet and you nearly fling the crown to the ground. How foolish of you to let you guard down. How could you forget? You could hear Mother scolding you, telling you how stupid you were, how you could have been kidnapped or killed.

Heart hammering against your ribs your eyes settle back on the closet as it bangs again.

Your guest was awake.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[thisthatpinkvenom]

DOUBLE TROUBLE

SAN / FEM READER / SEONGHWA

⤏ Synopsis: What happens when a SanHwa girlie succumbs to her pent up one-sided sexual tension and types it out on her keyboard.

⤏ Genre(s): drabble*, incoherent and filthy smut

⤏ Content: polyamorous!au, established relationship!au, non-idol!au

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): just lickin' and suckin' and fingering away (fem receiving), manhandling, hard dom!Hwa, Sannie's more of a softer dom, one pussy slap, light mxm

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

"Stay still."

Your limbs trembled under your very compromising position, muscles feeling as if they were made of elastic banding threatening to snap if pulled too hard. You could only complain through muffled whines and weak whimpers, the hem of your shirt bunched and shoved into your mouth to unveil your breasts. You could do nothing but watch the thick fingers that squeezed the soft flesh and toyed with your nipples. Blurred in the background was your boyfriend—one of two—whose hands rested on the back of your thighs to make way for his mouth to access your sensitive little pussy. His perfectly gelled hair from the morning became a disheveled shell of what it used to be, black locks falling over his forehead still stiff and shiny from the hair product.

Though those details became secondary when his eyes threatened you with a simple glance. Without warning, a sharp smack made contact with your clit and you cried out, your vision blurred with tears while the wet cotton slipped away from between your teeth. With your legs squirming, your hands rushed to reach between your thighs but to no avail, they’re caught swiftly by his own. One hand went to sooth your throbbing nub with its thumb, a large difference with what hit you before. You didn’t resist, your weak head falling back against the tummy of the man who held you, the man who completed your relationship dynamic in full circle.

His eyes were naturally sharp, but they were warmer and more forgiving with you. But you made no mistake to think that he would go any easier on you, he could be meaner if he wanted to.

“Sannie,” you mumbled between sniffles.

San, who snuck you a loving gaze, wiped your tears with his thumbs and your dripping nose with the sleeve of his silk button-up. His lips merely teased you with a feathered kiss on the forehead as he smoothed his hand along your head. He reached for your shirt, shushing you softly in the process.

“Everything’s all right, Baby. Keep it in your mouth”—he stuffed the spit coated fabric between your lips—“and be good.”

“I told you to stay still and you just won’t fucking listen,” Seonghwa said lowly. His lips were coated in your arousal and his own spit, glistening under the warm lighting from the floor lamp.

You muffled an incoherent apology before being pathetically handled like a doll, repositioned to sit on San’s lap. Your sore legs were stretched open again with this time, held open by the strength of his sturdy arms hooked around the back of your knees. Seonghwa crawled closer, the mattress dipping as he did so. His face was so close to yours, though not touching, you could almost feel his hot skin. He observed the cotton between your teeth, breaking character for a brief moment with a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips as he firmly tapped your cheek one, two, three times.

“At least you know how to do one thing right. Good girl,” he praised before kissing your cheek.

Lowering himself to lie on his belly, his hands found purchase on San’s thighs, thumbing them across his black slacks. He pushed himself forward to prod your entrance with his tongue, retracting it once it slipped in as far as it could go and dragging it unhurriedly up your lips and meeting your clit. The tip poked and teased at the hood, before Seonghwa pulled back and pursed his lips to gather a wad of warm spit that soon seeped down your pussy lips. He traced their shape with his thumb, then followed suit with his plump lips trapping your clit in their hold.

Your body shivered as all you could do was comply, whimpering in quiet pleasure while he sucked with gentle pressure. You felt a pair of lips pressing kisses down your skin, starting from behind your ear all the way to the dip of your neck. San was whispering words that you could barely make out, catching a few things in your ear like how you were doing so well and to hold out for a little longer.

“Just take it, Sweetheart”—he squeezed the back of your quivering thigh—“that’s all you gotta do.”

Pointing your feet to the ceiling, keeping your legs open, and letting them have their way with you; that’s all you had to do. You should be more than proficient in doing that by now.

“You’ve taken our cocks so many times. Don’t tell me this is harder,” San taunted, softening the blow with a wet suck on your neck.

You shook your head side to side, chest heaving with large breaths before muffling a weak noise when two fingers slid into your pussy. There was no specific point for you to focus on. Every touch, every wet, sloppy sound, and every word screaming at you to pay attention to them. Seonghwa didn’t have to worry when San was there to check on you, so he didn’t intend on holding back at all. His middle and ring fingers moved on from relaxed pumps to a rapid “come hither” pattern between your walls, all the while his mouth was still going strong on your clit.

Your eyes snapped open as your head pushed off from San’s shoulder.

“Mmph!”

You couldn’t keep your promise anymore, wriggling in his hold while your shirt absorbed every desperate noise you made. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, it’s as if they briefly had minds of their own, moving aimlessly at your sides before finding purchase on the sheets. Your muscles were left stunned and your mind went blank that you hadn’t even registered the iron grips pressing into the back of your knees.

You’re left a twitching mess, your toes still curled in your socks when San eased your legs back down.

Seonghwa almost slipped his tongue out to lick his lips, letting out an amused hum before coming closer. You’ve become sandwiched between your lovers, sore and weak from the work you’ve been put through. All you did was bask in the warmth that engulfed your half naked body, complete in their space.

“You want a taste, Baby?”

You knew he wasn’t referring to you when you felt his cheek press against your ear, sharing a sweet kiss with San until the sounds grew louder and their lips moved with more heat in motive. He squeezed your breast and with his free hand, grabbed the younger man’s own to touch his erection.

“Our sweet girl’s had enough, hm?” Seonghwa muttered between kisses. “Let’s put her to sleep.”

You mumbled a half-hearted protest, though it only gave them more reason to kiss your cheeks and tuck you under the sheets. You’re left to slumber alone, with the last thing you remembered seeing was your boyfriends stripped of their clothes, exchanging desperate kisses at the foot of the bed. You managed to catch a glimpse of San throwing his head back in bliss when a hand reached lower to wrap around his stiff cock before you finally let up and let your vision turn black.

You knew well enough that you’d find yourself between them when you woke up, completed in their warmth once again.

[witchofthesouls]

I love your bayverse Isekai AU, will there be any more snippets on the shenanigans with our feral wildling prime with equally feral newsparks and politically rogue sentinel actively failing and somehow successfully courting the said feral prime while simutaneously giving the metaphorical middle finger to the council regime.

You're standing in the middle of a pale desert. The white sand ripples without wind, and it's endless without anything in sight. A stark divide between the ground and dark sky. The stars are strange. Dripping like a child's clumsy first ventures into watercolors; saturated, vibrant hues fading into weak trailing brushstrokes. With enough concentration, you parse out the shapes of the stars, outlines squirming, moving back and forth, bleeding across the night like odd-shaped marbles.

Someone calls out, and you turn to see a fluttering-

______

You wake up, and the dream fades. The remaining echoes of crying easily meld into the newsparks' wails for your attention, even under Thundercracker's crooning engines, calm field, and fuel production. They look for you, blindly reaching out, fields refusing to settle until well entangled under your own and dozing on your chest.

______

Because you and information slugs don't mix, you're learning the old-fashioned way: direct practice.

And there's nothing in this current life nor your past human one that could prepare you for Iaconi dining etiquette and their culinary practices.

Sentinel is surprisingly patient and encouraging. Star Saber, on the other hand, is demanding and pompous as usual.

A few pieces of the cutlery are familiar in a vague shape-sense, like a spoon should be a spoon, but the spoons' handles have delicate metal leaves with tiny bundles of shiny berries. One grouping is so fragile that the shells jiggled as it rose from a well-hidden compartment from the table. Another clutch isn't round but more hexagonal. A blue hexagon-like raspberry with reddish fuzz.

There's also a tool that looks like a love-child between a well-used slinky and nunchucks and a doohicky that combined a two-pronged fork with a honey dipper.

There's nothing on the table that looks remotely close to honey or a sauce to use said dipper.

You deeply yearn for the simplicity of Thundercracker's cubes and her endless supply of snacks.

Biting the bullet, you commit to a spoon, and Star Saber exudes disdain as you try to scoop out the plain tofu lookalike on your plate. It jiggles and warps the moment the utensil touches it, and the berries, every single one, fall off. The hard ones bounce off, tinking across the table and floor, and the fragile ones splatter the tofu. A contained mess of color and sound clash as discordant strings and chimes overlay and warp.

Sentinel is then right by you. "Like this," he says, and he takes your hand to pick up the fork end, guiding you to twirl the dipper right over the plain tofu block. It quivers, and there's a lovely wind-chime noise before the entire thing flows upward, carving into long, unbroken chains by following the grooves, and artfully twirling backdown into a nest.

A plate of color-splattered noodles now sits before you.

Sentinel uses the slinky, applying the nunckuck ends to his thumb and middle finger and gently bounces the slinky over the noodles. The noodles slither their way into the middle, and after a mouthful is gathered, he brings the contraption near his face, flicking off the thumb attachment and the flexible tubing and 'drinks' his food as if it's a straw itself.

A sharp, ringing hum grabs your attention, prickling over your senses at vibrates in your field. When Star Saber stops circling the rim of the wine glass, the hum dies down as well.

"You failed when we entered." You stare blankly at the Seeker, and he clicks his glossa before explaining, "The most prominent member signals the rest to sit."

"But I waited for you because you're the most experienced!" Star Saber had literally spent weeks beating it into your processor about the teacher-student dynamic: who sits, who stands, who dismisses, and many other important, little steps of social nuance.

"Yes. If this was an educational setup, but this is a formal meal, it's the established Prime that signals to everyone else to sit."

You throw all caution to wind and reach over to the turn table in the middle. Sentinel laughs as you manually spin it until you reach your target: the deconstructed savory pies basket.

Star Saber remains unamused as you take a bite of the sphere, and spices flood your senses, coating your glossa with a hearty, thick gravy. The 'wrapping is supposed to be peeled, but it's completely edible and flaky layers.

It's a performance piece with the right sounds and gestures. The wrapping would gracefully unravel, and the contents reorganize itself into a sophisticated piece of art before settling into cups to be eaten one by one.

You find it more comfortable to eat the pie in one whole go. Star Saber deeply sighs at your atrocious manners and actually snaps at Sentinel when the mech decides to follow your lead.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 1,000 FOLLOWERS! That's absolutely wonderful! You deserve it.

1.) T. "I see you. I know you're watching me." // 2.) 🕶 Mafia AU // 3.) Writer's choice! Go wherever the muse takes you. // 4.) 📚 Book

Thank you so much! ❤️ Hitman Eddie and mob baby Steve are rapidly taking over my brain, so here's some more of them!

Poisoned honey

Rated: M

Words: 995

Tags: Mafia AU; Hitman Eddie Munson; Mob boss Richard Harrington; Blood and violence; Obsessive behavior; stalking; flirting; sexual tension

Notes: Part 1 | Part 2

The boss is in one of his moods. 

Eddie endures the screaming with a stoic face - or as stoic as one can manage with a split lip and one eye swelling shut - and thinks to himself what a fucking joke it is. If anyone has a right to be mad, it's him. 

The intel he got on the job was all wrong. The target arrived with backup, turning what was supposed to be a quick, clean affair into a bloodbath. Eddie still finished the job, of course. But the goods he was supposed to secure got destroyed in the fight, losing the boss a ton of money. Hence the yelling. And the name-calling. And the throwing things. 

Eddie sidesteps the whisky tumbler that's hurled his way. It hits the wall, but he can feel the shards catch in his hair as it shatters into a million pieces. Jesus Christ. On days like this, he almost regrets getting into this. 

Almost. 

It's not easy, working his way into Richard Harrington’s inner circle. In the beginning, the asshole wasn't even aware Eddie existed. And even now that Eddie has his attention, he's still far from gaining his trust. 

Eddie gets it, though. You don't become a mob boss by blindly trusting anyone. 

And so Eddie has been biding his time, slowly weaseling his way into the group of Harrington's most loyal hitmen. The better part of a year passed before the boss even deemed him worthy of entering his office, but that’s okay. Every job brings him a little closer to his goal, and every time he sets foot into Harrington's villa is another occasion to catch a glimpse of the prize he's got his eyes on.

*

It's getting dark by the time he's dismissed. He should go home to lick his wounds, but the patio doors are open, and the rippling light and the scent of the hydrangea bushes lure him in. The night is warm, and with a bit of luck, his little nymph will be out by the water. 

He's in one of the lounge chairs, hair wet and tousled, body draped into a robe against the breeze. The underwater lights illuminate his features. He has a book in his lap, and his brow is furrowed in concentration. Eddie stays in his hiding spot for a long while, watching graceful fingers leaf through the pages, watching pink lips part around inaudible words, and gets lost in his favorite fantasies. 

Biting and sucking at those lips until they're plump and shiny, drawing the most beautiful pleas and moans from them. Maybe he'd leave those hands free, or maybe he'd tie them up, just to watch his little nymph struggle. Just to feel him squirm while Eddie covers that soft, tan skin in marks, leaving the traces of his ownership for everyone to behold. 

“I see you. I know you're watching me.” 

Eddie is so far gone in his own head, it takes him a moment to process that the words were directed at him. It takes even longer for him to realize who the voice belongs to. 

The boy has marked his page and is looking straight at his hiding spot, lips curled into a smile.

“Why don't you come out and introduce yourself? It would only be polite.” 

Soft hair falls into hazel eyes as the boy cocks his head. He looks so sweet, but Eddie knows that looks can be deceiving. He sees the coy glint in those eyes, sees the sharp edge to that smile. Knows that this is his last chance. He can turn away and save himself, or he can follow his little nymph's call and let himself be pulled into the depths. 

Those eyes sparkle with satisfaction as he steps out of his hiding spot. Not waiting for an invitation, Eddie sinks down into the empty deck chair beside the boy's, lighting a cigarette and taking a pull. 

“Eddie Munson,” he drawls and extends his right hand. “My pleasure.” 

The boy quirks an eyebrow before reaching out - only instead of accepting the handshake, he snatches the cigarette from Eddie’s lips. His fingers brush the cut and it burns like gasoline. 

“Steve. You know my last name, obviously.” Those perfect lips part to exhale a plume of smoke, hazel eyes assessing every inch of  Eddie’s appearance. “What happened to your face?” 

“Work accident,” Eddie shrugs. “Fell down some stairs.” 

Steve huffs a laugh, a curt and cruel thing. “Yeah, right. You think I'm stupid? I know you’re one of my father’s dogs.” 

Eddie feels his temper flare, snide reply already at the tip of his tongue. How he’s not a dog, doesn’t answer to any master. 

Except, that isn’t true, is it? 

He’d happily kill for this boy, would beg and crawl and debase himself. Has been doing exactly that, every day, for almost a year. 

Steve smiles, sweet like poisoned honey, and takes another lazy drag of the stolen cigarette. 

“You guys are all the same, huh? You think you’re so tough, so dangerous, but as soon as my dad tugs on your leash, you slink off with your tail between your legs. Pathetic.” 

Eddie is nothing if not fast. With one quick movement, he has snatched the boy's wrist and pulled the cigarette back to his own mouth. He takes a long drag, pressing his lips against the soft skin of those fingers. When he pulls away, he makes sure to graze his teeth over Steve’s knuckles. Those hazel eyes are huge, pupils deep and fuzzy, as they watch him stand. 

“You like leashes, little nymph? Good. Hold on to that thought.” 

Nothing has ever been harder than turning his back and walking away, but somehow he does it. Eddie prides himself in being good at his job, and much like his job, this is all about playing his cards right. 

He intends to win, in the end. 

He always does. 

Part 4

More celebration ficlets

[cherryredstars]

1K Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Gods AU, Sprinkled Fluff, Mentions of Injured Animals

Summary: It is as the prophecy foretold.  

Word Count: 1.2K (Not Edited)

The light is a golden white. 

The monument is beginning to form cracks in its delicate marble, foreshadowing the crumbled state it will begin to take as time rushes forward. The night air is warm, chased with the occasional breeze. Footsteps echo in the hollowness, a cloaked figure descending the steps of the shrine. The wind comes to greet the figure, playfully trying to detach the pure white cloth from their form. The moon comes to greet them too, lighting the path to the village in silver. From a distance, the figure seems to glow with the moon.

The village is silent, warm from the late night candles that are now extinguished. It is shielded in darkness, but a bittersweet taste is hanging in the air, just like the townspeople said. It is familiar, bordering on fearful and comforting. Under wooden doors, light teases to escape from the homes but thinks better of it and stays to warm the residents. As the figure walks through the empty dirt road, scattered randomly with stones, the crickets and night owls quiet. 

A dog, skinny and wobbling on a broken paw sits in a dark crevice between two homes. The figure walks to the entrance of the small slit, staring down at the animal. Instead of cowering and running away, the dog tries to crawl forward. Its body is too heavy to support itself, protruding ribs weighing down its skinny legs. It tires easily, barely moving a foot before it shifts its head up to look at its cloaked savior. A pitiful whimper rumbles from its throat, silencing when the figure brings a finger to its mouth. The figure bends down, their hand hovering over the dog’s face like they are closing its eyes. The dog's eyes grow heavy, head lowering to rest on its paws. The figure gets up, leaving the dog in its place before continuing their journey. A few seconds later, a puppy of the same moonlight silver follows, tripping over its paws. 

The puppy weaves around the figure’s legs yapping in a pitch only they can hear. The puppy seems excited and nostalgic, tumbling and chasing fireflies. The two make it to the edge of the village. They stand at the entrance of a thick forest. The leaves and trunks are dense, preventing the shining of the moon. The figure walks ahead, stopping as the puppy hesitates and gives chase once again. It is colder in the forest, but the figure continues weaving in and out of trees. They do not seem to have an exact location in mind.

Suddenly, cold and deadly arms wrap around the figure’s waist. The figure stills momentarily. Then, they reach up. They grasp the material of the cloak’s hood delicately, pushing it off their head as they look over their shoulder. 

The figure--a woman--has shiny skin. Her hair flows from her head and her eyes shine with a comforting warmth that feels like you are coming home after a long and cruel journey. Her aura and face promises protection and all that you’ve been secretly longing for. 

“Cariño, you always know where to find me,” the second figure hums. 

It is a man, his dark apparel contrasting with his lover’s white clothes. He seems harsher, more final. But, matching with his other half, he gives a subtle comfort. It can only be found in a darkness, revealed to those who are brave enough to enter it. His features are sharp and defined, instead of soft and rounded. 

“I brought you a present, Miguel,” the woman responds. Both turn to the ground, watching the glowing puppy who tilts its head in curiosity. 

“I see,” Miguel murmurs. 

His arms unwind from the woman, crouching to the ground. He holds his hand out, slightly translucent and resembling bones. Hesitance engulfed the small dog again, put it steps forward and sniffs Miguel’s hand. Its tail begins to wag as it realizes what is to come. It yelps excitedly, spinning and jumping in circles before pushing its head into Miguel’s hand. Both gods chuckle, eyes softening as Miguel scratches behind its ear. The puppy pulls away, looking at the two of them one last time before licking Death’s hand. A strong breeze comes through the trees and the dog disappears with it. 

They stay paused for a moment, giving nature and its spirits their moment before Miguel gets up again. The two gods face each other, the woman holding her hand out. Miguel takes it, winding his arms around her waist once again. The Guardian throws her arms around Miguel’s neck, delicate fingers ghosting up and down his back. A dark rumble escapes his chest, his face falling to her neck and nosing at it. She giggles at the gesture, turning her head so her lips hover over his ear. 

“The village smells of death. You scare them.”

A deep sigh leaves Miguel, pulling away slightly to cup the Guardian’s cheek. He presses a soft kiss to the opposite cheek, stalling. The woman is patient, basking in the moment and not rushing Death. He is thankful. 

“They scare themselves,” he whispers back. “Something, a plague or a… hero, perhaps, is soon approaching. Something is stirring, mi luz.”

His goddess hums in thought, eyes glazing over as she peers somewhere behind his shoulder. Her hand on his back stills, hands readjusting to grasp his shoulders. His hands squeeze her sides in comfort, resting his forehead against hers. Her eyes return to his, clearer now. Her beautiful features are marred by a frown, and Miguel’s hand comes to smooth her frown lines away. 

“The temple… it is beginning to crack. It grows colder. The oracle foretold it, but it is too soon.” 

Her voice is calm, but it holds a bit of alarm. Her body grows stiff and Miguel comforts her in a way only he can. He hums in agreement, but there is little else the either of them can do. 

“I know, but we know better than most that time is unforgiving. It does not wait for God or man.”

The Guardian huffs and sinks into her lover’s hold. Some of her warmth seeps into him and he smiles. His hand goes to the small of her back while the other pets her hair. After some time, he pulls away and takes her hand. He guides her back out through the trees, returning to the forest’s edge. The night sky is beginning to lighten, and the moon begins to melt into the sky. Miguel presses his front into her back, kissing the curve of her shoulder. They are silent for a few minutes, watching as the sky clears to make way for the approaching sun. 

“A new age is upon us, mi luz,” Miguel whispers faintly into her ear. “It will be our turn to rest soon.”

A strong breeze comes again, her hair trying to follow. When it settles, the coldness at her back is gone. The Guardian stares at the horizon, that small frown still on her face. With a heavy sigh, she pulls her hood back over her face. Her feet move back through the village, growing further away from the trees. She passes the crook where the dog’s body lays, the crickets and night owls sleeping now. 

An echo comes again from marble steps, a cloaked figure in white disappearing through the column. The sun rises, washing everything in a golden white before the world is silent again. 

Then, the village people open their doors and live as they always have for the last time.

I love God AUs.

[thatshadowgastwhore]

Tim Drake x PJO Aphrodite kid AU drabble

Tim was never more in his element than when he was at a gala. A party. A soirée. A fundraiser rubbing shoulders with the heights of society, or the dregs, depending on one’s perspective. 

He was built for it, afterall. 

Five feet and seven inches of lean muscle and a shockingly defined figure, he had the shiny, healthy, onyx dark hair, perfectly clear skin, and defined cheekbones to make anyone swoon. People said he inherited all his mother’s looks, which was entirely too accurate, a private joke for him alone. 

He did look an awful lot like Janet Drake. He just also inherited quite a few of Aphrodite’s characteristics as well. 

It was all in his voice. Where Janet was sharp and hawkish, her remarks biting in a way you could feel, but couldn’t quite counter, Tim’s voice was melodic. It lulled anyone within earshot into a sense of trust and security. Your secrets were safe with him. Look at him - would he do you any harm? Why don’t you tell him all the details of the deal you’re brokering with Mr. Luthor?

He could glide across the floor in a dance, leading or following depending on who his partner was, charm the pants off anyone he wanted to, or quickly disengage from anyone he didn’t. He was everything Janet could have hoped for in a magical baby delivered to her by Eros himself following an affair with the most stunning woman in all of Paris. At least it was a plausible explanation for why he could speak French fluently. 

Yes, Tim was the pride of both of his mother’s when he put away his pretenses and just let his godly side flex for a moment. Sure, being half god helped him heal faster, keep the superhero physique, and have the reflexes one needed to excel as Red Robin. But getting to be his mother’s son on these nights….it felt good.

Which was why he maybe forgot the directive for the night. Which was to make a briefer than normal appearance before departing for patrol. He was filing away the information Mrs. Tipton was telling him about her husband, the senator’s, exquisite time in the Iceberg Lounge for the case he was working, when he felt Bruce and Damian’s eyes on him across the room. 

He elected to ignore them. If they wanted him to patrol that badly tonight, they could tell him themselves. Have Steph do it, she’d been adamant she not have to attend the gala. He continued to circle the party, sauntering around, moving his hips more than he justifiably needed to to walk, but sue him for knowing his ass looked really good in this suit. It only helped his charmspeak; people wanted to believe they were still attractive and young, and if an attractive young person complimented them and accepted them as one of their own, it only made his words more potent. Whoever said that sex sold wasn’t a liar. 

He allowed the young son of some board member or the other to lead him onto the dance floor, quickly beguiling him and tracing the right threads to tug in an embezzlement investigation. The other man (Rufus, Tim learned, a family name apparently) wouldn’t even remember the contents of their conversation, Tim’s words were so potent, just that it had ended with a good-bye kiss to the cheek. 

Bruce did care, it turned out. He approached Tim at the edge of the party near the refreshment table. 

“You were supposed to be patrolling tonight. Jason requested your help with the trafficking investigation.”

“Steph can do it,” Tim said, “I’m more useful here.”

“Tim, you know that route better than anyone-”

“Bruce,” Tim looked him straight in the eyes, “you want me at this gala. This is where I shine. Stephanie can work that patrol. I’ll find more information now to generate leads for more cases than just Black Mask.”

The charmspeak wrapped around his words, causing Bruce to pause, clearly struggling against the magic. He had a strong mind, Tim could give him that. 

“You want this, Bruce. I’m helping people.” Tim pushed. 

He knew that wasn’t really how charmspeak was supposed to work. Forcing his will onto other people wasn’t how it was most effective, he should be more subtle about it. But Tim took great pride in being the only one to lie to Batman, and he didn’t need magic to do it. He could be convincing all on his own. Afterall, Aphrodite might have made his tongue silver, but Janet was the one who made it sharp. He was his mothers’ son, and he could convince anyone of anything. 

“Yes, of course,” Bruce succumbed, “I’ll ask Steph to meet up with Jason.”

Tim’s face morphed into the perfect breezy, carefree smile. “Yes, you will.” He made eye contact across the room with his next mark, a known pawn of Scarecrow, the daughter of some uppercrust Bristol couple, and current chemistry student at Gotham University. He wasn’t wrong. He could help more people here. 

It was also way more fun. 

[daisychainsandbowties]

bea - eviscerate + stitch

this dark is everywhere, we said (and called it light)

a percy jackson au

///

Lilith wakes to the latent heat of volcanic glass seeping up through the palms of her hands, lacing along the blade of her cheekbone, drinking down the tears that scatter out of her lashes as she lurches awake, gasping.

She’s lying spreadeagled on hard, garish black rock, glittering with the reflection of enormous stalactites – a ceiling of sharp ends diving down out of the gloom. Her hair, distinguishable only as a more greyish shade of black, is stuck in clumpy patches to the ground and it peels away as Lilith forces her leaden arms to move, pushing away from the ground that always seems like it wants to eat her.

A tremor of white pain travels from her breastbone to the hook of her floating ribs, and she groans as she glances down at blood-sticky rock. It is shiny, glassy like a dead black eye – and Lilith sees her sword lying in the manner of a crooked smile underneath her upraised body. The hilt is shaped like a fishhook, the blade concave near the hilt and pitching out into a broad convex near the tip.

There’s a chain of soft gold running from the hook of the handle to the blade, and it shines strangely in the wet reflective surface of the volcanic stone that runs up to the high walls of hell itself.

Lilith knows, without looking, that there is a very specifically-shaped bruise running from just underneath one of her breasts down the rungs of her ribs, terminating just above her hip. Others too, splashed across her jaw and the socket of her right eye. There is dried blood crusted in her hairline and on her lips, cuts beneath her clothes that have bled into the fabric.

The last thing she remembers is fighting, knee-deep in snow somewhere in the Himalayas. Red spotted in the drifts and an old oil lantern trying vainly to scoop the darkness up off the snow, throwing reflections onto white-capped stone. She was following a fresh trail of blood and gore up a switchback that couldn’t really be described as a path when a great shape came crashing out of the night.

She recalls being swept aside by a massive paw, or maybe a hand, and landing dazed in the snow. Rolling aside just in time to avoid a sharp-seeming downstroke. Might have been claws, or a blade, or a set of enormous teeth. Her lantern rolled away, and Lilith heard the ringing in her ears that announced death. She scrambled to her feet and saw where her light had been tossed away, where it came to rest by a shape lying limp in the snow, surrounded by a halo of blood.

Lilith didn’t need to roll the corpse over – didn’t have time, as snow swirled and a shape stalked her. There, with snow and ice muddling the feeling of stone beneath her feet, she felt powerless. She couldn’t reach out and rend the earth, couldn’t call fire up from the mantle of the planet. Too much interference, too much fear.

There was a crumpled polaroid in the back pocket of her jeans, showing a smiling woman in a puffy green jacket, pretending to blow on her hands for warmth, though she stood next to a bonfire and underneath a clear, starry sky.

There was no need to roll the corpse over because the jacket lay in pieces around the body, rent by claw or blade or teeth, and Lilith felt anger surge up inside her as she tore her sword out of its sheathe and turned in a wary circle, trying to pierce the blizzard with the tip.

But then she heard a flurry of movement behind her and something rammed into her back, tossing her forward and face-first into snow. A phantom voice in her head whispered through the wind as Lilith reached vainly, dizzily, for invisibility, for her god-given power over not being. Coming up, as usual, against the wall of her own scattered focus.

A voice in her head saying, shut the fuck up and fucking Travel, or so help me I’ll come back to life and murder you.

And so she Traveled. Reaching out to gather up the shadows into a soft blanket, into a blade she pressed willingly through her own body, carrying it away from the blood in the snow and the monster in the dark. And there was nothing and no one and nowhere to think of but home, wretched though it is.

Hades.

Lilith stands, dragging the sword with her so that it dangles with the tip almost touching the ground, resting the blade flush against the curve of her boot. It has a soft black glow, down here in such proximity to the waters where Lilith stood, stripped to the waist and running with cold sweat. Where she dipped the fresh-forged blade into the polluted waters of the Styx.

She’s wearing her black aviator jacket, sunglasses sticking out of the pocket, over a somewhat threadbare t-shirt with a weird, shadowy creature on the front. She keeps meaning to Google what it is, but a giant snake ate her phone last month.

And, anyway, there’s no one left to call.

As ever, a pall of ghoulish green light sits over the gateway to the underworld, seeping along the riverbank in both directions. It’s a little like dry ice, but this isn’t a stage or a theatre. It’s just where she lives.

Lilith frowns down at herself, at the spots where her jacket has frayed, where the black leather has cracked or been scraped away by claws, the chill sitting barely above her bones from weeks of sleeping rough up on the surface. The golden chain on her sword settles against her knuckles – a faint, weird warmth – and Lilith lets a small sigh escape from inside her mouth as the greenish mist rolls past her.

There’s something about the mist that feels animate, today. It almost seems to cup her cheek, to flow over her cheekbone like a cold thumb, taking a little heat out of the bruises. Though, there’s a pressure to it – almost a reprimand.

Lilith stares towards the gates and the looming canine shape that sits squarely inside, worrying the inside of her lip. Is it her imagination, the slightly-chiding care that runs through the green light, the cool river mist?

She doesn’t speak to her father – not more than a handful of times in her life. He didn’t save her mother from the bombs or her sister from starvation, and he tucked her away in a dreamless sleep until he had a use for her. So what does she owe him?

Nothing.

Certainly not conversation, or whatever paltry imitation of love he can scrimmage out of his rotten heart. Fuck you, she thinks. There’s no benefit in saying it aloud, but Lilith lifts her middle finger, pointing it towards the mammoth walls, toward Cerberus and the stupid, banal bureaucracy of death.

The ghost in her head chuckles, low, and Lilith feels the golden chain brush her fingers again though there is no wind here to move it.

A wave of dizziness wash over her – a wild urge to lift the hilt of the sword up to her mouth and kiss the chain, but all she does is stand there in the shadow of her father’s kingdom, aching down to the marrow of her bones.

Then, from behind, from down in the direction of the ferry, she hears the scrape of wood over stone. Here, on the parallel shore of the Styx where nothing moves or walks or breathes but Lilith.

She whirls, sweeping her sword around so that she stands – unsteadily – with her body held sidelong in a narrow target, blade parallel with her raised arm, tip pointed towards whatever foul thing has crawled up out of the river.

Then she freezes, blinks, feels all the moisture in her mouth turn coppery and sour, because it’s not a monster.

It’s a girl.

Shorter than Lilith, with a pair of dark eyes pooled above a grim little mouth. Lilith realises – with a sense of disquiet – that she is beautiful. There’s a dust of freckles sitting like an afterthought on her nose, her cheeks, drawing out the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her mouth is pulled tight, grimacing, but it hardly upsets the softness of her jaw.

She’s wearing a dark blue shirt over what looks like a thermal base layer. It’s cold down here, though it has never truly bothered Lilith. She’s built for it, or just used to it. Despite the extra protection, there is still a faint tremor sweeping through the girl as she stands, black rock glittering underneath her.

It’s easy to see why.

She is drenched in blood, leaning heavily on a spear made of bronze, decorated with tiny winged shapes. Lilith can’t make out what flying creature it is, but she makes a guess. There is, indeed, an owlishness to the girl as she stands, blinking through the gloom at Lilith, making no move to defend herself as blood spills out from where her palm is pressed into her stomach. Lilith can see the pink glisten of unearthed viscera beneath it, can see that her fingers are pressed inside to the knuckles.

A half-blood, then.

Lilith’s fingers tighten around the hilt of her sword. It’s Stygian iron – a substance that can only be forged in the waters of the Styx, capable of absorbing the essence of monsters, ripping them even out of Tartarus. Monsters and mortals and gods fear it, but the girl only blinks down the curve of the sword as Lilith holds it aloft.

Her voice, when it drifts out of her mouth, rolling into the mist, is clipped and precise and soft. All by itself it makes a crack in Lilith’s resolve.

‘You’re the daughter of Hades?’

It is, Lilith thinks, mostly a statement. In her bruises and her battered black clothes, with the life-eating pall of a Stygian sword in her hand, Lilith looks like the bastard child of death.

The stranger is a hazy shadow, cut to the quick by the perpetual drain of this place; the sewer of the Styx washing by with a sound like a hundred thousand muttering voices.

Blood patters softly onto the stone at her feet, but it scarcely has a chance to pool before the stone swallows it. The girl, hair half-unbound around her shoulders, strands falling down around her face to complicate it with shadows, stares at her own boots for an instant, wobbling. Lilith understands what she is feeling; it took weeks for the rock of this place to feel solid, to stop warbling underneath her with the threat of turning to liquid, to blood, to ink.

Lilith has dreamed of the bottom of hell, and this is not it. This is only the threshold.

‘Who’s asking?’ she growls, taking a careful half-step forward. It’s more of a shuffle, really – a habit born from fencing lessons held deep inside the walls of the Underworld, in a garden full of soft fruits and the promise of spring. The place she learned to fight.

The girl straightens, stiffening under Lilith’s scrutiny. There’s a sort of raw-boned intensity to her, like she’s holding herself very precisely in check. Her fingers, too, have tightened around the haft of her spear.

She’s shaking, blood now flowing down to drip from the tip of her elbow where it’s clamped tight against her body. Lilith wonders what it took for Charon to ferry a dying girl across the river.

The tip of her sword is only a foot from the girl’s throat as it bobs, as she raises her chin to expose the bumpy layers of cartilage sitting in a line; the very slight bulge above her windpipe.

There’s no point in asking who sent her. If she’s a half-blood, there’s only one place she could have crawled from.

Softly, again, the girl speaks. Backlit as she is by the green glow on the shore, she carries the countenance of a ghost. Lilith might mistake her for one, if she didn’t know better.

‘My name is Beatrice,’ she says, in a voice like cold water and warm milk, ‘I am a daughter of Athena.’

There’s blood on her lips, Lilith realises, as they pull into a grimace. They shiver as Beatrice pulls her fingers out of the slit in her stomach, holding them out in wry invitation.

It’s utterly bizarre, but Lilith finds herself lowering her sword, leaving it to sit against the leg of her jeans. Beatrice has proffered her right hand, so Lilith is forced to juggle the sword into her left so that she can reach out, tentative, to wrap her fingers into the sticky, blood-stained cup of Beatrice’s hand.

‘Lilith,’ she says. Somehow, it feels like an admission, like giving something away.

The daughter of Athena smiles. Pink-tinted saliva dribbles down her chin. It’s ghastly, but Lilith finds that she is somewhere on the opposite end of disgusted, wherever that might be.

There are, after all, no destinations along the river Styx but one. Death.

Beatrice squeezes her hand. She takes a ragged breath, her dark eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, boring into Lilith’s. ‘Pleasure,’ she says, a little giddily. ‘I thought I would have to go deeper into hell to find you.’

‘Well, here I am.’

A tightening around her hand, not quite a squeeze. ‘Here you are,’ Beatrice says. She lists forward, catches herself, ‘I’m here-‘

She coughs, and the redness of it floats weirdly in the mist. Beatrice stares, shakes her head like she’s trying to banish a ghost.

Her voice is very faint. ‘We need your help… daughter of Hades.’

Then the daughter of Athena, her skin like dark gold even in the bad light of the Underworld, falls forward. It happens slowly, at first, like she’s just taking a step, but then Lilith sees her knees buckle, watches the spear slip through her fingers.

And without thinking she steps forward, capturing Beatrice’s warm body in her arms.

...

Ten minutes later Lilith crouches next to a limp figure she has propped up against the pitted, high stone wall, feeling like a thief as she unbuttons Beatrice’s blue shirt and peels her black base-layer away from the slice in her lower abdomen.

Her sword is on the ground next to her, at a right angle to her body, the hilt in easy reach. Beatrice’s spear is propped up against the wall. It is, indeed, covered in tiny filigreed owls.

Beatrice does not stir as Lilith raises her hand, ignoring the unhappy shiver of the mist against her back as she draws on the power in her blood, summoning up a sliver of bone from a tiny vial of bone dust she keeps tucked inside her boot. It forms in the air, turning from powder to liquid to solid bone in the span of a moment, before settling down into Lilith’s red-painted palm.

It’s not ideal, but she can hardly wash her hands in the river. It’s full of plastic and rot and blood. Instead, she makes do with the little wadge of bandage and thread she keeps in the pocket of her jacket.

Beatrice continues to breathe as Lilith carefully threads her bone needle. There’s a voice in the back of her head spouting stupid facts about the history of needles and sutures, but Lilith hisses at it to shut up before dipping the sharp end of the bone through Beatrice’s flesh. The thread turns red as it passes in and out, but it’s proper surgical suture, so it also tugs the flesh back towards itself. It makes whole.

Distracted by her work, it takes Lilith too long to notice the change in Beatrice’s breathing. She finishes her row of stitches – they’re thick and lumpy and as elegant as she can make them, but there is no ringing in Lilith’s ears to ordain death, so it must be enough.

At a loss for any other implement, Lilith picks up her sword and carefully cuts the thread, leaving a little curl of it to sit against the taut muscle of Beatrice’s stomach. She has, of course, attempted not to notice the ripple of honed, hard muscle that runs the whole length of what necessity has forced Lilith to unearth; the evidence of a life spent fighting.

She has attempted to ignore it.

When Lilith looks up, sword resting on her knees where she’s crouched, balancing effortlessly on her heels, she finds that Beatrice’s eyes are open. Hazy with pain, but alert underneath it all.

A tentative smile flutters across her lips, ‘You saved my life.’

She dumps the sentence at Lilith’s feet like it means something.

Lilith shrugs, ‘I’m a freak, not a monster.’

The freckled skin on Beatrice’s cheeks wrinkles in tandem with her frown, ‘Wh-‘

‘You said you needed my help?’ Lilith interrupts before the question can come out and make everything awkward.

Beatrice’s stomach is still laid bare, covered in fingerprint marks where Lilith has touched her – in every single place Lilith has touched her.

Mercifully, the daughter of Athena lets her question fall away. Her bronze spear shines off of some strange reflection in the volcanic rock.

‘Yes,’ Beatrice says. There’s some depth to the word that Lilith doesn’t look down into, in the same way she doesn’t peer into the waters of the Styx as the ferry glides over it. Some mysteries are not fit for consumption.

‘Alright.’ Lilith nods, ignoring the way that the gold chain on her sword tightens against her hand, like a warm tongue, ‘Tell me what you need.’

[elitesheepi]

So back in my kbnz days, there was a witch Piers, Dragon Raihan au going around that I added too. Never finished the fic, but I did write these snippets 👀

There was a saying that existed within the kingdom of Galar: If you can make a dragon loyal to you, you could control the world. They were loyal, impervious to pain, moved as one, and yet they were regarded as myths. Children’s fairytales that you tell them. Of course, many of the adults knew they were more than just that: they were living Gods, and no god was more revered than their leader.

Raihan, the Dragon King.

To everyone, he was a living legend, a dragon god, or nothing more than a myth.

Pier’s knew better than that.

~oOo~

It was late, too late at night for Piers to still be awake. His human made candles had long since lost it’s flame that he now had to rely on his own fires to keep his room lite. He should go to sleep, but his grimoire was so close to completion that going to sleep now will just make him lose momentum and Piers couldn’t afford that. The melody was perfect and the words came to him with little issue. If he could keep his eyes open just a little longer, it would be enough. Just as he closed the book, a loud crash sound from outside. He snuffed all the candles out in seconds, the home plunged into silence and darkness.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Was it another bounty hunter? The bounty for the “Witch of Spikemuth” has gotten more enticing recently so the witch hunters have gotten bolder. Coming to his swamp lands directly however, that’s just a deathwish. Piers rose from his seat and grabbed his bag of powders. If it’s death they wish for, then he’ll give it to them.

Piers flung his front door open, hand set ablaze in a magenta flame and murder on the mind. The curse was on his lips, ready to be expelled upon the foolish hunter who dared to step foot on his lands. There was no hunter. There wasn't a hunter at all.

It was a dragon. A fairly big one too. It was only slightly bigger than the wagons used by merchants. Shiny black scales shimmered under the moon. Its wings, orange like a sunstone, were fanned out as the beast thrashed around. It finally seemed to have noticed him when its body went taunt, stiff. Ebony talons were pierced into the ground; a threat. It’s teeth were barred at him. Blood dripped down its sharp fangs as it snarled and hissed at him. Piers’s hissed back. He wasn’t afraid of some lizard. He couldn’t be anyways, dragons can smell fear and they react to it with more aggression. An injured, aggressive dragon would only make things worse for both of them.

The dragon sniffed at his hand. Whatever it was smelling, the herbs from dinner, the faint smell of aloe, or even his own scent, it seemed to placate the dragon. It forced its head onto Piers’s lap. As Piers, with his free hand, rubbed soothing massage circles into its head, it just hit him: this was a dragon. A terrifying beast of legend, a god, and it was curled in his lap making rumbling sounds of content like the cats that wander into his home. He’s had mythical creatures come to his home for help before, fairies, a unicorn or two, even a water nymph he’s grown friendly with, but a dragon? Marnie would love to hear this story.

With the last of the medicinal cream smoothed into scaly skin, Piers let out a breath he didn’t even know he held. “Take it easy, will ya. I’m good at this kind of shite, but it’s not this stuff isn’t fast acting.” The dragon opened it’s eye and stared back at him, sharp blue eyes and a black slit running through it. “If you’re worried about danger or whatever, don’t be. I’m not exactly anyone’s favorite person so no one comes here.” At night anyways, day is a different story. Witch hunters gets cocky during the day.

The dragon huffed out air through his nose and rose to its feet.

It was only days later when a handsome man with sunstone colored wings appeared on his doorstep

[bunsofhoney]

Flufftober Day 15 14

Reflection

The prince sighs as he stares into the small, patinaed mirror. He tugs at a golden curl that has fallen over his temple. The rest are shiny and soft and perfectly coiffed, as they must be. His father and their fleet of manservants wouldn’t have it any other way. He must look perfect as he sits by his father’s side at court, nodding in agreement with the plans and schemes so numerous he can barely keep track of them all. Although he’s not in court now, he’s in his bedroom, where he spends the rest of his time, sequestered away to study.

The prince’s eyes circle the edges of the frame, where twin dragons curl. The pad of his thumb trace their sharp wooden claws that delicately grasp the glass.

Harry wishes that the dragons were real. That there were real dragons left in the world. He wishes that any of the ancient creatures carved in wood or gilded in gold on the well-leafed pages of his books still existed. Maybe a dragon or a unicorn or griffon could carry him off, away from the cage of this castle and the crypt of his narrowly-defined existence.

A crash across the room startles him out of his reverie. Harry jumps up, about to call a guard, when he hears “Sorry! Sorry!” in a voice that brings with it the nostalgia of an warm late summer day, playing chase with a young boy from the village, back when his father was less of a tyrant. He plucks a name, Peter, from memory, but doesn’t say it aloud.

The figure who has just fallen through his open window (five stories up, in a tower, mind you) is clad in dark blue breeches, a flowing red shirt, and a red handkerchief with holes cut for eyes, tied around his head. His voice, and his frame, both seem young, or at least not older than Harry.

“Um. Excuse me? Do I know you?”

Harry approaches the figure hesitantly. The young man looks up, and the brown eyes hiding in his mask grow wide.

“I, uh…no, no. Just passing through!” He leaps to his feet, too fast for words. Before Harry can ask another question, he’s somersaulted back out the window.

Harry rushes to call after him. Come back! Take me with you! He wants to shout, but when he reaches the window there’s no one there to hear him, just the gentle autumn breeze whispering through the leaves.

.

(Whoops! I posted out of order yesterday, so this is 14 and that was 15. I will make corrections later.)

Read all the drabbles here

Prompt: day 14 - Fantasy AU @flufftober

[notnosimp]

I enjoy that fucked up looking fish (Siren Charborg) quite a lot.

I want facts about the fucked up looking fish if you are willing to share

TY SM!!

Ask and I shall share!! (sorry to other asks, I'll try to get to y'all soon- with art, hopefully.)

Siren!Char is one of many characters in my Monster AU- where there exists Werewolves, Vampires, Sirens + Mermaids, many different versions of the Undead, and more! (Which you'll learn of soon :))

Charborg, (the fish-based scrunkly that he is) is of course, a Siren; basically being the carnivorous, singing version of a Mermaid.

This means that he has much sharper teeth (as you saw), claws instead of rounder, shorter nails (which i forgot to draw), and also a murkier color palette/scales. His tail also sports much tougher scales, built for combat (though not straight up immune from all hits) and a lot less shiny than a Mermaid.

(He's based off of a Sockeye Salmon, btw- got that from his PFP)

All fish-based, human-like monsters (Mermaids and all the species which come from them) have the ability to retract their tails- replacing them in an uncomfortable few seconds with legs. They still have most of their features in the transformation- keeping their coloration through 'tattoos', keeping their sharp appendages (teeth, claws, etc), strange 'ears', and yellow-ish to orange-ish eyes. (I'm using the Vampire bat transformation rules here, so they do keep their pants, somehow. Don't ask me about that bit, I'm just trying to keep everything PG-13 man 😭)

While Mermaids can sing quite beautifully, Sirens have the unique ability to mind control the people who are exposed to it. However if the vocal cords, mouth, or general throat area of the Siren is damaged- or if the Siren simply hasn't practiced this power- then they cannot mind control. Some Sirens are simply born without this power as well- only singing a bit nicer-sounding than average. Unfortunately, Char is one of these people; he cannot mind control, and was kicked out of his original Pod for this reason. Fleeing, he eventually found a pirate crew made up of Mermaids and Sirens alike (a strange sight by itself- there's lots of prejudice from both sides), which accepted him. He made his home there, and started a life of stealing, sword-fighting, and generally exciting, happy moments (until they got attacked, but we'll get to that).

While he was originally a pirate and had more pirate-fitting clothes, I'm suiting him with a more grunge-y, punk style (with some pirate clothes sprinkled in) later in the lore that may have not fully shown itself in the photo that I've posted, but i swear he will look stylish and funky in my art eventually, once I have his design down!!!

(Feel free to submit ideas for the designs or clothes that they could wear btw- I need ideas!!)

Lore wise, I had a few different ideas for him, but they all circled back to him being a weird lil pirate so I settled on this:

Originally, he was living with a crew made up of other Sirens and Mermaids (as I said before), parading around stealing anything shiny and fighting other pirate gangs in their (probably stolen) ship. That is, until, they ended up fighting and stealing from the wrong crew and the seemingly small human group came back a few days later with a LOT more people and revenge-fought them, searching for a very important treasure which they stole. The battle ends with Chars Pod being killed off and (if they were deemed 'pretty enough') trophied. Char ends up surviving by hiding with the ships luggage, but eventually he has to bail ship and gains a large amount of injuries in the process. He finds land, but I am unfortunately still workshopping everything beyond that. (I'm focusing on the whole setting rather than the character's lore atm.)

Hope it all sounds interesting so far!

More things will happen with the others and there will obviously be other B-Plots to do with the characters unrelated to Char, but for now I'm just focusing on their world, all the different species, and all their scarred up (speaking of- Char has scars, I swear, I just didn't draw them in that initial pic), weirdo designs :)

I'm making art of their world plus designs for their bases/homes and just general landmarks, so hopefully I can get that out soon!

Thank you again for asking!!

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link below!

From the Seed of a Sunflower

AU Types- Fantasy AU/Flower Language

Word Prompt- Sunshine

Dialogue Prompt- “who are you?”

Summary:  Bilbo intends to go on his year-long journey as is custom of his Took family, and being six inches tall is not about to deter him. He soon finds himself in a big world, containing small people...just like him.

Bilbo finally looked up, and for a strange moment, he thought it was the ravens circling above that were speaking. Now, he had never heard an animal speak before, but to be fair, the only opportunity he’d had was with the neighbor’s tomcat, Smeagol, who was an odd creature in general. However, before he could contemplate more on the idea of talking ravens, he was able to catch the shiny glint of metal on the back of one of the circling birds. His breath caught in his throat. Was…was that a tiny knight? Someone…his size? He thought he was the only one.

“It’s making a run for it! Better bring it down, quick.”

It was at that moment he became aware of the Raven Riders quarry. A squirrel carrying a passenger of its own. Only there was something wrong with them. The squirrel was…diseased looking, matted fur, and overly sharp teeth. The rider was even more appalling. Too pale of skin with bone jutting out in odd places. It was enough to make Bilbo shiver in fear even from where he was standing. He became entranced watching the battle now that he realized that’s what it was.

One of the Raven Riders would fire an arrow onto the squirrel creature that would either be deflected by the monster or dig into its fur making it cry out. However, it didn’t seem like it was going down easy. In fact, it only seemed more agitated, something he could tell was making the Raven Riders nervous as their back and forth banter carried on above. It was like watching some sort of bizarre play which is why Bilbo never once considered the idea that he might be in danger.

[gemini-sensei]

Yasmoon Mermaid AU

○I think of Yasmine as a siren in all honesty. Like, if she wanted to, she could lure fishermen to their deaths, but that's so outdated and tacky. That's what her great grandmother used to do. This is the modern day, so you won't catch her using her siren song to do anything but attract attention to herself from other merfolk.

Deadly siren!Yasmine: *exists*

Mermaid!Moon: 😍😍😍

○Moon and Yasmine have been best friends since they were guppies. They were each other's first kiss too. They have their own secret spots in coral reefs and sea caves and all sorts of places where they like to escape to just to be togehterm They're just so close, and you know what they say, marry your best friend.

○Everyone pretty much knew they were going to be together since forever. Mermaid!Sam is already planning their wedding and has been since their teenage years.

○Moon loves Yasmine with her entire being. She admires her sharp, claw-like nails and pointed teeth. She loves it when Yas nips her neck with those teeth, it makes her giggles.

○Meanwhile, Yasmine loves Moon's patches of scales up her arms and on her cheeks. She loves how Moon is her opposite, no sharp nails or teeth. Just gentle and soft in every way imaginable.

○In my head, and because I'm always indecisive and changing my mind, Yasmine has a golden tail with yellow highlight and Moon has a light purple tail with iridescent highlights. They are the physical embodiments of the sun and moon and I won't take any criticisms on that. They are my sun/moon power couple and that's that.

○Fun dates where they just hangout and make jewelry for each other. They use shells and pearls they find on the ocean floor, sometimes old pendants from lost jewelry that's been buried in the sand. It's been their thing for years and they love to gift each other they pieces. They wear them happily.

○Other dates they have include cuddles in their special places away from the other merfolk and going to the surface at night to stargaze.

○Fun and romantic dances through the water. They circle each other and twirl, showing their love to each other whilst also showing off to other merfolk. They don't have to perform these dances in public anymore, but Yasmine loves to remind everyone else that Moon is her mate and no one else can have her.

○When they live together, they make a lovely sea cavern their home. They decorate it with shiny pearls and gems and all their treasures they've collected other the years. It's beautiful and all theirs 💖

[witchofthesouls]

OH MY STARS! WE TOTALLY NEED SOME WRITING OF BIRB JACK WITH SOUNDWAVE. :000

More AU of a Cyber!Earth!Au with the Darbys directly under Soundwave’s care.

The being that was once June Darby was a dangerous creature.

That ferity hadn't disappeared once he managed to coax her out of that endless dream. Within her, old human sensibilities of civilian life and civilization warred with the new instincts that were capable of devouring everything in its path.

Nor had Soundwave wanted to suppress those instincts fully. To tame them. No; it would serve them both well among the Decepticons and the strange, new world they were navigating. They needed to simply nurture the bridge and guide the process. Ease it.

The inhibition collar had done little to quell the microtransformations as she armed the edges of her robes with serrations, masking it with a deceptive gentleness as the sparklings hid by her legs whenever one of the more foolish mechs attempted anything.

(If anyone was stupid enough to think that June Darby was any less dangerous in a femme root-mode. That the collar was enough after her rampage across the ship as she hunted after her stolen child. It was their own passage to the Unmaker.)

Her son, Jack, echoed it.

Optics blown wide with the white pupil mechanisms drowned out everything else, the sparkling's frame shifted and rippled between the metal of shadowed hull and his own physical body as he mimicked the crooning birds perched upon his shoulder.

Croaking and chattering. A mix between organic ruffling feathers with metal plates sliding and soft transformation seams. It was difficult to discern between the sparkling and the birds. Only the multiple optics popped out of the seamless blend.

In the gleam of those dark, shiny optics, Soundwave saw the reflection of that strange robed figure.

Jack's mouth moved, but it wasn't words, just a spill of noise. Not even birdsong or a close mimicry. A mix of pattering rain, distant rolling thunder, and a gentle breeze through swaying branches.

The boy met his visor and seared into his mind was yellow robes standing within a clearing where many of the mining operations had disappeared. Something writhing behind them, dissected limbs with peeled musculature and fuel lines neatly entwined with one of the metal trees.

Soundwave quietly filed away the abomination that was Silas. Breakdown's paintjob, no matter the degradation, was a custom one by Knock Out's hands.

The spymaster kneeled down. He ignored the hissing birds as they ruffled up. What mattered was Jack's reaction, and Soundwave had poured so much work into ensuring his charge was comfortable in his presence. A careful prod to allow their EM fields to overlap. Jack didn't pull away as Soundwave anchored into his space, circling the sharp, bizarre notes as the birds became more distressed.

Jack's main attention was pinned to the distant figure calling for him (and his mother), but a small part still focused on Soundwave.

"Jack." Soundwave played out the haunting recording of June's many-layered voices of her monstrous alt-mode. "Jack. Jack. Jack. Where are you?"

The sparkling finally blinked. Connection severing. That grey-blue hue returned as he tentatively stepped into Soundwave's reach. He ignored the shrill squawking and crash of teeth and data-cables as Soundwave crushed the blackbirds and their foreign influence as Jack curled into his hold. Like a puppet with severed strings.

Luminosity hissed from the corner before barreling over, clambering across Soundwave's back-plating as she pushed her own quelling danger senses into them. She spoke in rapid squeaks and chirps, punctuated with hard flaps of her wingspan as Jack pressed himself deeper into Soundwave's hug. His mind jumbled in strange breaks as Jack attempted to reorder himself, and Soundwave gently reinforced the lowered mental defenses, sweeping away the scent of ashes and the boiling-freezing imprints.

Of course, the birds weren't real. Even with his speed and the sensation of crushing them, Soundwave felt only the walls of the ship.

[kits-ships]

more info abt my demons :3 more under the cut

Asmodeus - Pansexual / Demigender - Any Pronouns - Lust Formerly known as Samael, Angel of Death. Third/second in command of Hell Represented by crocodiles, prayed to for fertility and wealth Black, wavy hair, yellow-green eyes and slit pupils. Has fangs and a bridge piercing. Scratch on his face is from Seraphina. There's an AU with Baphomet where he's alive, and one where they killed him. Was originally created as Lilith's 'brother' figure.

Astaroth - Bisexual / Bigender - He / She - Pride Formerly known as Jophiel, designed mountain ranges and caves Represented by bats, prayed to for beauty and success. Ginger hair, purple eyes and sclera, and has fangs. Often wears purple makeup. She is one of the palest demons in Hell as she refuses to go outside, lest the sun damage his skin.

Baphomet - Pansexual / Nonbinary - They / Them / It - Wrath Formerly known as Seraphina, head of the Seraphim, designed savanna animals Represented by goats, prayed to for fertility and general protection Blonde hair, pink eyes with horizontal slit pupils. Can have horns, goat ears and a tail. They also have a septum ring, but I forgot :( Covered in scratches and bite marks from Asmodeus /neg, and also bite marks from Paimon /pos

Leviathan - Aroace / Genderqueer - They / He - Envy Formerly known as Zachariel, 'deputy' of the Seraphim, designed sea creatures Represented by the fin whale, prayed to for safe travels and for mercy. Black locs with the tips dyed a deep blue, and blue eyes. Has a few helix piercings and a nose ring. Occasionally has scraped on his human form from surfing or general shenanigans.

Lilith - Aroflux / Demigirl - She / They- Sloth Formerly known as Tamiel, personal assistant to the Archangels Represented by owls, prayed to for relaxation and peace. Long black hair, black eyes, and sparse freckles across her face. Has some bite marks and bruises on her body from Paimon /pos. Originally created as Asmodeus' 'sibling' figure.

Mammon - Polysexual / Demiboy - He/Him - Greed Formerly known as Jhudiel, lower ranked angel that worked with plants Represented by wolves, prayed to for success and wealth. Light brown 3B hair with his bangs dyed green. Has green eyes, fangs, and a septum and nose ring. Often wears gold eyeshadow, and has various cuts and bruises on his human form from bets gone awry.

Paimon - Agender / Demisexual - It / Its - Gluttony Formerly known as Barachiel, former Seraph, designed desert animals Represented by camels, prayed to for a good harvest and for prosperity. Messy, dark ginger waves. May or may not have eyes, but definitely has fangs. Can have horns, ears, and a tail. Face is often covered in crumbs or scratch marks, as its nails are rather sharp. It jingles when it walks, as its pockets are always full of odd trinkets and shiny trash.

taglist bc i love them

@selffulfillingshipper @dudefrommywesterns @sunstar-of-the-north @kylars-princess @faerie-circle-ships @knightoflove @wyndford-dekarios

[saedii-gilwraeth-simp]

Can we have some more of the Modern au please

Hell yeah. also can you tell I know nothing about sports?

~~

The buzzer goes off loud in the gym and it's like the whole room goes silent, everyone watching and waiting with bated breath. It was the final for the uni's women's wrestling team after weeks of competing.

The trophy sits shiny on a pedestal away from the mat where the final match had just started and everyone knew it.

Tyler, Kal and their friends were sitting in the stands in rapt, watching Saedii and her competition circle each other. Saedii grins through her mouth guard and the air goes sharp right before both girls go audibly crashing into one another, both pushing.

Tyler catches Saedii shifting to the left right before Saedii’s opponent goes crashing to the mat before she even knows what happened. The ref counts it and just like that, their university has another trophy. Tyler jumps from his seat with a cheer and pumps his fist. Saedii stands from the mat and politely shake hands with her opponent before her eyes find Tyler in the crowd.

Seeing her loved ones int he crowd cheering for her, her jersey stretched across Tyler’s chest, she grins.

~

“oh, god, why, Jones?” Saedii says and Scarlett just grins instead of answering, throwing the door to the karaoke bar open. Everyone else follows willingly but Saedii is only pulled n by Tyler’s hand and wry smile.

The inside of the bar was covered in fluorescents that had Saedii wincing but Scarlett pushes though and guides them into a room with seating and a karaoke machine and screen on a stage.

Kal smiles awkwardly at Saedii and shrugs and she shrugs back. At least she had her brother, who had just as few “stupid fun” experiences as she did.

To everyone’s surprise, Zila was the first to grab the mic. She just lifts a shoulder and says quietly.

“Volunteer now or Scarlett will force later,” Scarlett doesn’t deny the accusation, just grins and cheers Zila on as she gives an awkward rendition of some song Saedii thinks is Coldplay and then promptly sits back beside Nari who wraps her arms around her girlfriend.

Eventually everyone has had a turn including awful renditions of Get It, Get It (Scarlett), Space Girl (Nari), Wonderwall (Kal), Rocket Man (Auri) and finally, Tyler’s version of Total Eclipse of the Heart that has Saedii in tears holding back her laughter.

And then, unfortunately, everyone’s eyes turn to her. She groans in dissatisfaction but gets up anyway and begins to flip through the book of sings until her eye catches on one.

“This is for Kal, whose teenage years made it so I don’t even need to read the lyrics to sing this song,” Kal looks at her in confusion and she grins sharply before hitting play.

The first note of Welcome to the Black Parade and everyone groans.

~

“You know I’m really proud of you for today,” whispers Tyler into the dark and Saedii frowns.

“For winning a wrestling match. I could do that in my sleep,” she says and he shakes his head.

“No, for getting out of your comfort zone. And for giving me ammo over Kal for his emo phase,” Saedii snorts.

“Thanks and you’re welcome.”

“And sorry that I actually recommended the karaoke bar to Scarlett to hear you sing,” he says quickly and she blinks, working through what he said.

“Oh you ass!” she says, pushing his shoulder and he laughs.

“I regret nothing.”

“I’m gonna kick you out and you’ll have to walk back to yours and Kal’s in your boxers,” she say and he smirks.

“You and I both know you like me in my boxers way so much I wouldn’t even make it to the door,” he says and she rolls her eyes.

“Cocky bastard,” she says, turning her back to him. He shuffles closer and wraps his arms around her.

“You love it.”

“I do, but I’m never singing again.”

“Hm, we’ll see... oof,” he groans as her elbow hits his stomach but he smiles because he knows she definitely didn’t throw it as hard as she could.

~

Saedii would be a karaoke champ you can’t prove me wrong 

[kariachi]

Okay, it’s Odaiba Day, if there is any day I am going to get a partner line together for Chosen Devin AUs it is today damnit...

So, the Aberamon line, kinda sorta. An Aberamon line.

~~

Erynmon

Stage: Baby/Baby I

Type: Seed

Attribute: Data

Description: A small brown orbular digimon with three large, round violet, petal-like wings coming from it’s top, the wings droop down, hiding much of the center from view and dragging on the ground, can use wings to float and twirl in the air and on breezes, has two large solid yellow eyes

Attacks: Sepal Swat (bats at opponents with it’s wings)

Hegrekmon

Stage: In-Training/Baby II

Type: Fairy

Attribute:Data

Description: A small, ovular, white creature that appears to be formed from smooth, shiny stone, with a jagged crater-esque mouth, two large pastel-blue eyes, and three small round feet

Attacks: Dizzy Dance (disorients enemies by circling them at high speeds)

Aberamon (Sun)

Stage: Rookie/Child

Type: Holy Beast

Attribute: Vaccine

Description: A mid-sized creature with a flat, almost square body, upper portions covered in what appears to be long, flowing, light brown ‘Pele’s hair’, skin is a very pale yellow, possesses four thick spider-like legs, one at each corner, ending in one large claw each, head is large, round, and attached directly to the body between the front-most pair of legs, possesses four large eyes- right pair green and left pair violet, mouth is large on the head and full of sharp teeth, two small black horns rest on the top of the head

Attacks: Shard Shell (tackles opponent with full force)

Dididirumon (Sun)

Stage: Champion/Adult

Type: Holy Beast

Attribute: Vaccine

Description: A large creature reminiscent of a flat-backed millipede, possesses no legs, segments all extend into solid fin-like forms, back and fins dark brown, head and underbelly very pale yellow, no antennae but does possess a pair of black antlers with two tines, mouthless head with four angular eyes- right pair green and left pair violet, segments edged in electrum, ‘swims’ through water and air does not touch ground under normal circumstances

Attacks: Solar Tribute (generates ball of fire between antlers and fires at opponents), Coils (entangles and squeezes opponent)

Oppoimon

Stage: Ultimate/Perfect

Type: Mythical Dragon

Attribute: Vaccine

Description: A massive, flat creature reminiscent of annelids with a lizard-like head, a dozen pairs of dark grey metallic claws line the sides of the body, possesses two large forelimbs similar to those of a mantis in the same color as the claws, tail ends in an screw of the same, head has a metallic dark grey skull helmet, mouth has two rows of sharp teeth, four angular yellow eyes, jagged ochor-red stripe under each eye, down each forelimb, and on either side of the ‘spine’ down the back, primary color is a shiny grey-green, typically terrestrial

Attacks: Striking Ambush (strikes out at enemies with forelimbs), Pressure Quake (causes the ground to shake violently and geysers to erupt under the enemy)

Rumalmon (Moon)

Stage: Mega/Ultimate

Type: God Dragon

Attribute: Vaccine

Description: A large Osmosian-shaped creature with a dark grey-green hide, forelimbs are massive in comparison to the body ending in heavy, skeletal hands half the size of the torso, skeletal tail is twice as long proportionally as an Osmosian tail, possesses four large pairs of eyes- four violet running down the belly and four green running down the back, head is eyeless, canine teeth are doubled as compared to an Osmosian, skeletal portions are bright yellow-orange, possesses seven four-tined electrum antlers, one electrum chain is wrapped around the base of each antler and wraps loosely around the body and limbs, can locomote quadrupedally, bipedally, and through floating

Attacks: Holy Sabre (stabs and/or slashes as enemies with claws), Calling (releases blinding light from eyes that radiates through area, damages ‘unholy’ opponents), Nightburst (unleashes a barrage of energy blasts onto opponents)