#the fall gauntlet rat

[lizanneyoung97]

BOOK REVIEW: THE FALL GAUNTLET: RAT BY J.A. MERKEL

⭐⭐⭐💫

RAT picks up right where BEAR ended, which is great. As novella-length stories, I wasn’t sure what to expect as the series continued, or how far into the future it might go, so I’m glad no time is lost so far. The second installment provides a closer look at the intricacies of the system and how it continues to affect not just the brothers but others, even when they denounce it.

This one definitely gave me 1984 vibes. It continues to reinforce the police-like state of the society, even when Benji thinks they are on the cusp of escaping it. Learning more about the other sects of people with similar goals to Benji but their own plans, it shows just how long people have been trying to defy the government, and maybe even the investment that’s in store for the brothers. Will they be able to enact change in a shorter time period? I don’t know, but I’m excited to find out.

[novaursa]

The Night They Came

- Summary: The night is dark and full of terrors.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: This short story describes events of B&C, but if assassins succeeded in their mission.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for blood, gore and death)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

Maps are spread across the table, their edges curling slightly under the weight of time and hurried hands. Aemond stands tall, clad in black leather and polished silver armor that glints under the torchlight. His brow is furrowed, one eye sharp and calculating as it scans the map.

Ser Criston Cole leans beside him, pointing at the parchment with a gauntleted hand.

“The Velaryons will not take kindly to the shattering of their blockade. If they move toward the capital, we’ll—”

“Then we’ll burn their ships before they ever touch sail,” Aemond cuts in curtly, his voice low, yet it resonates through the chamber like a blade dragged across stone.

Criston glances at him, faint approval in his eyes. “Swift, but it’ll require Vhagar to—”

The sound splits the air like a knife to the gut—a scream.

Your scream.

It echoes through the stone halls of the Red Keep, piercing and raw, like an animal caught in a trap. Aemond’s head snaps up, his body going rigid. The blood drains from his face. Before he can even move, a second cry follows—one equally chilling, but distinctly Alicent’s.

“The nursery,” Criston breathes.

Aemond is already moving, his long legs carrying him toward the door in a flash of black and silver. Criston is close behind, his sword clinking faintly against his armor as they race through the halls.

The corridors seem impossibly long, the screams echoing in Aemond’s ears like the tolling of a death bell. The flicker of torches blurs as he runs, but your voice—high-pitched and frantic—grows closer.

“No! Please, no!”

Aemond reaches the nursery door and shoves it open with enough force that it slams against the wall.

The sight that meets him stops him cold.

The room is dimly lit by a single, swaying lantern, the shadows distorted and crawling across the walls. The air is heavy—sickly. The scent of blood is faint but unmistakable.

You are on the floor, trembling, your nightgown soaked and streaked with scarlet. One hand is outstretched as though to reach for something—or someone. Your other hand clutches a dagger, its tip still dripping crimson.

The cradle in the center of the room—the one where your and Aemond’s youngest slept—lies overturned, blood soaking the blankets. Your other children huddle in the corner of the room, their small faces streaked with tears. Their frightened cries pierce the silence: a daughter clinging to her younger brother, shielding his face from the scene before them.

Alicent is being held back by two guards near the door. Her face is pale and stricken with terror, her sobs strangled as she calls out names she cannot see.

“Aegor,” she gasps, collapsing against the guards. “Aegor…”

Aemond’s heart stops when his eye falls on the bloodied cradle and the small form that is missing from it.

“Y/N!” Aemond shouts, his voice hoarse.

You whip your head toward him, your tear-streaked face wide-eyed and frantic.

“They were here—they were—” you choke on your words, pointing toward the shadows, where faint footprints of blood trail out of the room.

Aemond drops to your side, gripping your shoulders tightly. “Who, Y/N? Who was here?”

“Two men,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “The rat-catcher and a man with knives—they came.” Your sobs wrack your body, and Aemond feels your trembling beneath his hands. “They—they killed Aegor.” Your voice breaks again. “They took his body, Aemond. They took him!”

The blood in Aemond’s veins runs cold, his mind struggling to process your words.

“And the children?” he asks, though dread already curls like a snake in his gut.

You don’t answer.

From the corner of the room, a tiny voice trembles, “Papa?”

Your daughter’s voice is so small, so full of terror that it shatters what little composure Aemond holds. He turns his head sharply, seeing your other children—your eldest daughter clutching her brother close, their faces pale and wet with tears.

“Father,” your daughter whimpers again, as though the very presence of her father might save her from this nightmare.

Aemond forces himself to speak, though his voice trembles. “It’s all right. I’m here. I’m here.”

“They—they said they’d come back,” the girl whispers faintly, clutching her brother tighter. “They said we would see the same fate.”

A cold chill runs down Aemond’s spine, but he stands, his face a mask of cold fury. Criston, who has just entered behind him, takes in the carnage with a grim expression.

“Aegor,” Aemond murmurs, his son’s name a growl in his throat. He looks to you, still slumped against the floor. “What did they do, Y/N? Tell me!”

“They—” You swallow thickly, unable to look at him. “They made me choose.”

The silence in the nursery is suffocating.

“What?” Criston’s voice cuts in, low and full of disbelief.

Your tear-filled gaze finally meets Aemond’s. “They made me choose which child to spare. I—I couldn’t—” A sob breaks free, your body curling into itself. “I couldn’t choose, Aemond! I tried, I tried to fight them…”

The rage that coils within Aemond’s chest is volcanic. His fists clench so tightly his knuckles whiten, and his jaw works as he grits his teeth.

“They killed him?” Criston says softly, as if testing the very words.

“They killed Aegor,” Alicent wails, collapsing to her knees. “And they took him…”

Aemond’s single violet eye burns, his pupil small with unrestrained fury. He moves toward the overturned cradle, the blood-streaked blankets tangled and empty.

“I’ll have their heads,” he snarls, his voice ice-cold, deadly. “Every man, every servant who aided them, every soul who dared let them into this keep—I will burn them alive.”

Criston steps forward. “Prince Aemond—”

“Find them,” Aemond spits, turning on his heel and glaring at Criston with such ferocity the Lord Commander takes a step back. “Find them before the day’s end, or I will see the entirety of Flea Bottom reduced to ash.”

Your faint whimper draws his attention again. Aemond’s fury softens—only slightly—as he kneels beside you once more. He cups your tear-streaked face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze.

“I swear to you,” he says, voice low and hard, “they will pay for this. These men will beg for death before I am done with them.

From behind him, the soft sobs of your children echo, their cries quiet but haunting.

You clutch his arms, your blood-slicked fingers staining his black sleeves. “They took our son, Aemond…”

Aemond presses his forehead to yours, his eye shut tight as if to block out the world around him.

“Then I will bring him back,” he promises, though he knows the words are hollow.

And as the cries of the Red Keep continue to echo around you, you feel the walls of your world crumble.

[moodymisty]

I am here to humbly request an impromptu make-out session in some dark corridor with chairon and a subby reader, please. I need that man so bas one of his kisses would probably make me cum I swear to G- *gets pulled into an inquisition dungeon by a fish hook*

Author's note: Awwww I love Chairon so I'm happy to give the man some love he deserves it. <3

Relationships: Chairon/Gn!Reader(one vague mention of him wanting to fill you)

Warnings: Lewd but not full NSFW, Making out, Size differences

"Cha-Chairon,"

Your arms bunch awkwardly against the massive ceramite chest plate pressed against your front; A firm metal wall blocks your way behind you, leaving you as the soft middle of a pressing of two cold, immovable forces.

"This is the first time we've had a moment to ourselves in weeks,"

Charion's lips ghost over the pulse point of your neck, before brushing up to the sensitive skin just behind your ear. His gauntlets grip your hips tightly but not enough to bruise- the control he has over his strength is nothing less than incredible.

"I know, but your brothers can still walk in here,"

This hall isn't exactly, private. While it is near the quarters where most of the serfs stay, there is still a chance that one of his brothers could come across the scene most innepropriate of an Ultramarine.

If one of your fellow serfs saw, they more than likely would just keep it to themselves. Even if you are Chairon's personal serf and don't have much interaction with them, all the baselines aboard the battle-barges tend to stick together and not rat each other out.

The Ultramarines however- duty and honor tend to come above all else.

The heat of his lips teasing your skin, Charion moves to steal a kiss; His slightly larger mouth covering your own. You helplessly moan into his mouth as his nose presses against your cheek, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer. He knows just how to kiss you, how to make your knees feel weak with the intensity of him. He's neither sloppy nor chaste, the soft noises of your lips meeting is like a whisper as his hand comes to cradle the back of your neck, tilting your head for him.

When he pulls away to give you air, you move to follow him as if you didn't need any to begin with. You'd gladly sacrifice it, if it meant another second of him.

It always felt like whenever he kissed you, that you were going to just fall to your knees. For a man who had next to no experience with such a thing, it was so surprising to learn he was such a natural romantic. You've read lewd contraband novels with blacked out covers that contained less romance than him, all the while he can sweep you off your feet with the sweetest of compliments and most thighquaking of kisses.

You know he can smell your arousal, the dampening of your underwear, but he doesn't have the time for it, not with this current mission.

"You are so desperate," He laughs at your parted lips and hooded eyes, and your cheeks grow warmer at the attention. "I promise you we will have time once my duty is concluded, little one."

Their current task of pushing back Tyranids on this planet has proven longer than expected, and what Chairon had originally said was meant to be a day or two at most had turned into a week of him being in his armor nonstop, which had begun to weigh on him; Emotionally foremost.

He wouldn't admit it of course, it's part of his duty. But you have keen enough eyes to tell that he's frustrated with the lack of progress, and is itching for this to be over with.

As well as take a shower.

Suddenly, a crackle in his helmet alerts you that your time is up. The sound of a vox channel tuning in is distinctive, and Chairon knows it as well.

Chairon kisses you again, groaning against your lips as his hand once again moves to cradle the back of your head. Your hands desperately grasp at the top of his chestplate, trying to hold yourself steady as your knees go weak. Your stomach is tied in knots and your body clenches around nothing, desperate for him to fill you.

Now every moment or two he's swallowing more of your moans and whimpers, the sloppy sounds of mixing spit and wet lips smacking against eachother filling the cold air around you; Earlier you were worried about it being too loud, now you couldn't care less. You just want more of him.

His lips pull from yours with a soft pop and a sigh from him follows soon after, as he moves to slip on his helmet. You assume he's answering the vox, judging by his moment of silence.

"I will see you soon. That is more than likely my squad telling me we are now ready for departure."

His metal thumb brushes across your swollen and wet lips, as you look up at him. Your hands come to hold his massive, armored wrist as his hand cradles your jaw, thumb still on your bottom lip.

"Promise?"

Charion chuckles.

"I promise, little one."

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 23

Au where Danny hides his powers and eldrich nature from his husband Tim and Tim hides his vigilante career from Danny.

Both are very successful and neither suspects a thing. Tim had originally planned to admit to being a hero at some point but they were always either interrupted or it just wasn't the right time and then Danny had mentioned a few times during thier engagement and marriage that he couldn't handle being with a superhero or vigilante and that it was a deal breaker. Unfortunately Tim was already deeply in love and couldn't bare to break up with him so now he lives in fear of Danny finding out and blackmailed the rest of the family into never letting it slip.

Danny is in a similar situation, ever since the portal incident people were afraid of his other half and no matter how hard he tried they always ended up hating him. He loved Tim and couldn't bare the thought of his husband having that same look of terror. Of hate. So he hid. Its all he could do. Back when he and his friends went on that road trip and gained the power of the reality gauntlet he had tried to undo his undeath entirely only to find out Danny had glitches spacetime enough that even if he undid it (which the gauntlet was incapable of doing) he would eventually wind up with the portal opening up on top of him at another date. Call it fate or destiny or whatever you like. He was stuck like this.

So he did the next best thing. He erased any proof he had ever existed. Even from the minds of his own friends. He then skipped town-or in this case universes- and used the gauntlets power to carve out a false identity in this new world full of heroes and hope

Luckly there was no one who could rat him out...until some blond guy in a trenchcoat started following him around the grocery store and talking to him. At first Danny was a little confused and annoyed but when he asked what the blond guy wanted he asked, "I wanna know what you are." And Danny went pale.

Constantine then proceeded to blackmail Danny into helping him with a case or else he would expose his dirty little secret to Tim.

Danny made the a deal, ensuring that it would only be this one time. He told Tim that he was being blackmailed but insinuated that it was something petty between him and some of the other high society house spouses. The kind of drama that Tim always made extra sure to steer clear of. He swore to Tim he was this close to spiking Bethanys muffins with a laxative in retaliation for something and Tim gave helper suggestions for how to do it without being caught while they got ready for the day.

Ever since Alfred passed away it was up to Danny and a few other people to keep the Waynes from falling apart. Honestly, no one realized how much that man did until he wasn't around anymore.

To be fair he pretty much spoiled Tim by picking up after him to the point the man can't function after a few days. If Danny ever had to leave Tim alone for prolonged periods of time he would return to a giant mess and something burning in the kitchen.

Danny would clean, Tim would spew a fountains worth of apologizes, he would forgive Tim (as if he was ever mad in the first place. This just reaffirmed that Tim needed him to protect and care for him, making his core vibrate in happiness) then they would...reacquaint themselves. He nearly shifted forms the first few times this happened. That would be one heck of a way for Tim to find out about his ghost half.

Danny smiled, thinking about those memories. He truly adored Tim and couldn't imagine a life without him. He would just have to make sure this trench coated guy never came anywhere near his precious husband.

John would really like to know what this entity was and what it wanted with the Wayne brat. It couldn't really be in love with the kid, could it? He had personally seen these relationships work out before but there many more he had seen that hadn't. He didn't want to take that risk, so he needed to get close enough to evaluate the situation himelf.

[wishful-thinking-is-dumb]

Ok imagine your a “street rat” (medieval AU) and you steal a piece of bread to eat and you get stopped by knight ghost and taken to be punished your absolutely terrified thinking that he’s going to kill you but he’s oddly obsessed over you

lotsss of angst please 🙏 thank you!!

Simon Riley - Medieval Au

Knight Simon Riley x Thief Reader

It's a busy day in the market, you practically have to swim in between people since the streets are so packed. Surely no one would see you take a slice of bread?

You swipe a piece of bread, hiding it in your pocket. It's something you've done a million times. You were a pickpocket, it's how you survived. You only took what you needed, surely no one would blame you for wanting something to eat?

You maneuver your way to an alleyway, empty and isolated from the crowd. You take the bread out of your pocket and take a bite out. It instantly soothes the ache in your stomach, a constant feeling.

You are so hungry that you don't care to notice the clank of metallic armor coming into the alley and towards you. You have eaten the whole slice of bread when a cold gauntlet grabs you by the scruff of your shirt. You almost choke on the last bite of your stolen meal.

“You gotta pay for that, thief.” A low voice booms from behind you, you are roughly turned around. You turn to see a knight and your heart stops. You know what happens to thieves, they cut off your fingers and hang you.

“I- I was hungry-!” Your excuse is no help as he throws you into the alley wall, you groan in pain as you fall to the ground. That will leave a nasty bruise for sure. The air is knocked out of your lungs and you scramble away from the knight, farther down the dark alley.

“Shut up, don’t make this harder for yourself.” He spits, his tone makes your blood go cold. He draws his sword and you feel tears run down your face. He's going to kill you, right in the alley. You hope he at least makes it quick.

“Please.. Please- I don’t wanna die… Please don’t hurt me..” You beg the man as he points his sword at you. He follows you with slow steps as you scramble back, still on the ground. He scoffs at your begging.

“On your feet.” He orders you, and you quickly obey. He sheaths his sword and you feel relief run through you, but that is short lived as he grabs you by the collar of your shirt and drags you out of the alley with no remorse.

It's hard to breathe, the collar held so tight that it restricts a majority of your air flow. The people in the streets stop and stare, letting the man pass with a lot of room to spare. They seem to also be afraid of the man. You keep begging for him not to kill you as he drags you through the streets.

You are cut up and bruised, you try to get up to your feet but he pulls you down when you try. He doesn’t say a word as he drags you beside him. He ignores your pleading, your tears.

You are so distraught that you don't realise that he isn't even taking you towards the castle, where the prisoners are kept in the dungeon. He takes you to the outskirts of the city, where the crowd starts to thin out and the city blocks get longer.

[tales-of-wocdes]

Im thinking about a mc who climbed over the orphanage wall to get to see the city but in there they bump into some rich person who doesn't know that they are from the orphanage and is about to discipline the kid but their hand gets stopped by lexia or even the ancient grandpa being like I would not do that if I were you

There are reasons why climbing over the wall would be very unlikely to happen. I would also assume if MC can fly, measures will be taken to stop MC from leaving the premises like that :D

Still, let's assume that somehow it happened. And let's play up the "rich person" a bit.

Having the ancient grandpa is a bit problematic for story reasons... but it's not like these have to be cannon :D So why not?

------------------------

You were starring at all the stalls, and smelling all the smells. There is so much to see out here. So many things you have never seen before.

You were too lost looking at a woman frying meat on sticks, skewers you think they are called. It smelled so good. And the man that had some kind of juicy green thing with red insides... it looked tasty, he was chopping it into cubes with a big knife. Which is why you were staying back....

Which is why you ended up here. You are sitting on the street looking up at a very angry, very oddly dressed and very loud person. They are shouting something about "dirty street rats".

You bumped into this person while looking at the stalls... Now they are angry with you... What should you do? Lots of people are looking this way.

Should you run away? That seems like a good option. Run away before this person decides to start hurting you.

You scramble up, and try to flee.

An iron grip grabs you by the shoulder.

"Where do you think you are going?!" The person screams and drags you back roughly.

You try to struggle, try to slip away again. It just makes the person angrier.

"Stop squirming you little shit! Look at what you did to my clothes!"

Why are they so loud? Why are they so mad?

You try to wiggle out of their grasp again.

"Stop! Stop!" They scream at you. "Listen to me!"

You see the raised hand as it starts descending.

Oh. They are one of those. A bad person.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You doubt it will hurt that much, but instinct is instinct. You sort of regret sneaking out now.

You wait.

And wait.

Yet, the blow never comes.

You peek at the angry person...

---------------------LEXIA---------------------

A silver gauntlet is holding the hand that was about to strike you. Familiar red hair.

"You ok, kid?" Lexia asks and looks down at you.

She's here! Your Protector. She came for you, even when you snuck out.

You nod at her. The angry person is screaming something at Lexia now, but she just waits for your nod. Then smiles at you.

"Good. Just give me a moment."

Then she turns her face to the angry person and smiles.... Is that a smile? It is very different from her usual smiles. That is a lot of teeth... her eyes look different too.

"Calm down." she says. It sounds pleasant enough... It doesn't feel pleasant though. Something is off about the tone...

More people are gathering and all are staring. At Lexia.... Her armor. The silver armor is very distinctive.

The angry person is not calming down. Instead they are now ranting at Lexia.

"How dare you touch me! Let go you thug! Let go!" Their hand holding you comes off and they try to slap Lexia with it...

She catches the other hand in the air.

"Calm down." She says again.

The angry person does not calm down.

"Telling someone to calm down, never works." Lexia mutters. The person keeps trying to wiggle free... is this what people call irony? You tried to wiggle free earlier from this person's grasp, and now they are doing it too.

However, unlike they did for you, Lexia just lets go. All at once.

The person falls on their butt against the street. Much like you had when you had bumped into them.

They stare up at Lexia with such fury you wish to take a few steps backwards. Lexia just stares back.

"How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am!"

Lexia raised an eyebrow. "No clue. Do you have any idea what you were about to do?" She asked in turn. "You are rather lucky I got here in time."

"What are you on about?"

"You know, no Protector will stand by and let you beat little kids. Or if they do, then they are not worth their armor." For emphasis, she patted her silver armor.

Only then does the angry man take notice of who... or maybe what they were shouting at.

The angry person goes a bit pale, and reigns in most of their anger. "A Protector? And what exactly does that change?" Their gaze then lands on you.

The child, they were about to hit.

The Silver Protector standing between you and them.

"You were about to hit my charge." Lexia says. "Do you know what I am allowed to do to protect MC over there?" She asks, and then smiles a very scary smile. "Pretty much anything I deem necessary."

You feel she is exaggerating, but she is pretty mad... You think she is mad at least. Her shoulders are all stiff.

"But...." Lexia trails off and looks a bit to the side. "As I said, you are lucky I got here in time. Now you only get to spend a few nights in jail for attempted assault... abuse... whatever." She nods at a man in grey armor that people are making way for.

A Grey Protector. A counterpart to Lexia, who was to the city as a whole what Lexia was to the Orphanage.

Lexia leans in and whispers to the indignant person. You are the only one close enough to hear. "Had you actually managed to land a blow, you would be a smear on the street by now. "

Is she serious? She seems very serious.

Lexia spins around as the formerly angry person spluttered something indignant, now very pale.

"Come on kid. How about we get some snacks?" She offers you her hand, smiling just like usual.

You nod. Snacks sound nice right now.

---------------------GRANDPA SHEO---------------------

The hand that was about to strike you has been stopped in midair. The angry person's mouth is stuck open, but nothing is coming out.

Actually, the whole street seems to have just... stopped.

What? How? Why would reality break now, after all this time?

A little bit behind you, movement catches your attention. You twist your head to see.

A tall frame with wide shoulders. A black robe. Snow white hair with a matching beard. An unreadable face.

Something stares at you for a good while. Inspecting your well being.

Before you have the time to process, the world comes back to life.

The angry person starts screaming again, yet their hand about to strike you is not moving. They still have a hold on you.

"Remove the hand, or lose it." Something tells the angry person. It is odd, the words are quiet but somehow they cut right though the shouting and the noise of the street.

The person let's go as if burned. They stare at something with wide eyes.

"Begone trash." It is a silent voice. Something speaks with such a normal volume, and each word is so clear.

The formerly angry person does not need to be told twice, they flee.

Something turns to you, and seems to be considering something. You stare back, unsure of what to say.

"You done being dramatic?" Asks a woman's voice. Both you and something turn to look.

She is as tall as something is, with incredibly red eyes and high heels. Yet she is wearing a shirt and trousers... Who?

"I was not being dramatic. I was helping the child." Something says.

"By being dramatic." The woman rolls her eyes. "You could have helped without making a huge scene. Now because you wanted to show off for the cute kid, Nuaran will know where we are. Which means escaping a council meeting is a no go."

Nothing changes on something's face, but you get the distinct impression he is now rolling his eyes at her. "You wanted to escape the meeting. I just tagged along because you wanted me to." He says.

"Yes, yes, blame me, why don't you! Now you ruined my plans with your need to show off, and will buy me lots of food in recompense." Her gaze drifts to you.

"Hi, aren't you an adorable one." She says and kneels in front of you. Are you? Lexia always says so but you are not sure. "Are you hurt?" She asks.

You are not hurt. A little confused but that is your constant state of existence. So you shake your head.

"Good. Now, why don't you come with us, and tell him." She points at something. "To buy you all the snacks you want. You know he only shows off like that for kids anyway. Imagine that. He cares nothing for what adults think of him, but a child dislikes him and he sulks for days." She winks at you. "So you might as well take advantage of his idiotic tendencies."

Something is an idiot? That's not a very nice thing to say. He did save you!

The woman must read the indignation off your face and laughs.

"I say it with affection, little one." She says.

Does that make it ok? You are not sure...

"Elri, stop confusing the child. And I do not sulk... I brood. Sometimes I am even quite... jolly." Something says dryly. He ignored the raised eyebrow the woman gives him, and comes to kneel in front of you too. "Child, where are your caretakers? Havard or Lexia?"

Uh oh... You squirm before that gaze.

You think both of them know immediately why.

The woman, Elri, laughs. "Impressive. To escape from the orphanage at your age."

"Indeed." Something says. "Come along then. I shall inform your caretakers of your location. For now, we find somewhere to eat."

You think that's fine... You have a feeling neither Havard or Lexia can make these two stop doing whatever they want. And if what they want is feed you a ton of snacks... Well you have heard worse offers.

So you nodded and went with them.

You did not really pay attention to all the staring, too busy studying the two Ancients casually strolling down the street.

---------------------GRANDPA SHEO ALTERNATIVE------------------

When you open your eyes, all you see is a tall frame with wide shoulders. A black robe. Snow white hair with a matching beard. An unreadable face.

Something stares at you for a good while. Inspecting your well being.

"Are you well child?" He asks.

You nod slowly. Where did the angry person go? They are nowhere to be seen... Why are people looking towards the bay?

"Really?" A woman's voice asks. And you spin around to look at her. She is as tall as something is, with incredibly red eyes and high heels. Yet she is  wearing a shirt and trousers... Who?

"Are we now just throwing our citizens into the bay? Nuaran will complain. Again." She tells something, looking stern. "Especially if something eats that waste of life."

Something shrugs. "Nuaran can complain all he wants, the waste of life won't die... just have a very bad day. Don't pretend Elri. You are just upset you did not do it first."

The woman stares at something... Then smiles. "You know me too well."

"One would certainly hope so after all these millennia."

What are they talking about? Isn't millennia a really long time? Havard did call something an Ancient... Lord Sheo... Did he really throw the angry person into the bay? But.... that's... You are in the middle of a street. You can't even see the sea from here!

The woman's gaze drifts to you.

"Hi, aren't you an adorable one." She says and kneels in front of you. Are you? Lexia always says so but you are not sure. "Don't worry about the details." She says.

[Pretty much the same scene from now on]

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Let's call this over 1.9k word snippet thanks for over 8k and 9k browser plays :D I am not sure I am happy with it, but it now exists so... :D

[ashascoven]

❃☆ showering w/ the pyromaniac rat man ☆❃ pt. 1

☆ so hi!! um!! welcome to my first fanfic lolz (im nervous about posting this can you tell ?!?! o(*°▽°*)o)

☆ im rlly new to posting on tumblr, but ive been reading fanfics on here for a WHILE!! it's inspired me to write a silly one about my favorite lanky robber <3 if theres any mistakes, PLEASE hit my line abt it (i beg)

☆ here is part 2, which is smut/nsfw, also on my profile!

☆ FANFIC DEETS! junkratxreader ☆

reader is a female who's known for working with plants

VERY lengthy build-up fanfic (LOTS of reading, buckle up yall)

fluff??

emotional stuff, but nothing intense (??)

first time writing an australian accent, pls lmk if anythings weird!!

hope u enjoy :,D

“Hggshmmshh.. peeaachh c-c.. cobbler.. mmh.. eeheeheeheh!! Piee..”

“Dammit! Move over, rat-ass!” 

You felt as if you had finally managed to doze off only a couple minutes ago. 

One second you're about to drift away into a somewhat decent sleep, counting flying sheep and letting your drool start to fall.

The next, you're getting whacked in the head with a metallic hand or shoved by a wooden peg in one of your sides.

Having to share a bed with a loudly snoring pyro-freak who reeked of gunpowder and body odor was not a promising night of rest, especially in a room of pure humidity and sweat. 

The mattress beneath you two was unbalanced and squeaky, the walls surrounding it adorning overgrowing vines and tears in its paper.

His twisting, turning, n’ noises didn't make it any better, but it was kind of reassuring in the sense that you weren't sleeping alone.

When was the last time he even showered anyway? 

Does this man know how to?

How does he sleep like this?

The more you questioned the Australian in your head, the more his body managed to keep sprawling across the queen sized mattress you two shared. 

Both his normal and prosthetic limbs jabbed at your back, his armed belt straps and gauntlets not contributing to your comfort whatsoever. 

“Fucking- MOVE!”

You gripped at the bed and gave him one kick in the ass with your bare foot. 

The maniac yelped himself into a giggling fit, somehow still remaining asleep. 

God, what's his secret to being such a happy sleeper?

With one last scoff, you nearly pushed him off of the bed, but you didn't think twice about it.

Rolling your eyes, you returned to your previous position with your back facing him, crossing your arms and trying to let your eyes close again.

You thought about the mission you two were given together, recalling it hundreds of times in your head to hopefully quench at your inability to have a comfortable sleep.

Back at one of those Overwatch HQ meetings, they discussed wanting to try something new while still maintaining everyone's duties. 

Experimenting with how different heroes and scientists worked one-on-one with one another for “observational purposes,” they said.

Gibberish about increasing the rate of productivity within our cause by cutting down our dispatched team sizes.. 

“More groups of heroes can get sent out on more missions if distributed differently..!”

Blah-blah-blah..

You ignored all of the blabbering at the time, your ears only ever being open for what sounded most important and intriguing.

“It'll be an educational experience for great future references-” 

You reaaaallyy didn't think you'd be in one of the duo dispatches, yet here you were, somehow still in the flesh.

All that was asked of you both was to keep a watch out for anything suspicious at some abandoned town in the middle of who-even-fucking-knows.

Wooden huts n’ houses that were falling apart, yet they somehow still formed and held a small community of humble elders.

Supposedly, this place was a possible target of some well-feared terrorist group, and “Grandpa Jack” wanted you two to scout.

Discussion about exposed plans for making sure as many innocent people as possible experienced war “too” made your blood boil. 

It didn't make sense to you, the whole “no pain, no gain” mindset.

Clearly these people chose to live all the way out here to get AWAY from the danger, why force that on some old people anyway?

With their lack of clean drinking water and functioning power in an empty desert, you were sure they've already seen enough.

“Haven't we lost thousands of innocent civilians already? Omnic or not, they can't just keep coming up with all of this frivolous shit and throw it at us..!”

You grumbled to yourself outloud, unconsciously turning to face the ultimate rat that was laying behind you.

“Why would they send us here if they KNEW there were people out here who needed help? Wasting precious time by sending two of us out here instead of a whole team is beyond me, honestly! We'll just keep getting killed and..” 

Your eyes ended up catching onto your distorted reflection on the goggles that Jamison wore to bed.

It made you trail off and unball your fists, causing you to think about the old people again.

You thought about how much you were gonna get onto HQ's ass to seek a better home for them all.

They were sweet to you and Jamie, and you were pretty sure he would try to take one or two to keep as parents of his own.

Considering he didn't have any living ones anymore, it would check out.

Your eyes wandered off onto the flickering of the dying light bulb hanging bare off the ceiling.

The bulb hung right behind mister sleeping beauty, holding on by torn wires.

You were surprised your sleeping partner hadn't managed to somehow pull it down in his sleep yet. The thought made you smile for a bit, letting your face rest.

Then, your hand reached up to Jamison's face. 

You didn't think much about it since your mind was more on other things still, but you unconsciously held his cheek.

You watched as he smiled in his sleep, gently putting his own hands on yours and nuzzling into your touch. 

The feeling of his rough palm against your skin along with the metal of his other one sent a chill through your body, but you didn't pull away.

Just looking at him resting like a baby put your mind at ease for a bit.. It helped calm your grumpiness from not being able to sleep these past few nights.

It’s been the longest mission yet, and also the first one that you’ve slept together with a person you were sent with.

You ran your thumb over his lightly chapped bottom lip, your mind finally winding itself down.

You two had somewhat of a record of being assigned missions together, but you were never as close to each other as this. 

Something about the way your silly acquaintance slept carelessly in front of you was strangely inviting.

You swallowed your emotions and repressed your urges to suddenly hug the rat man, drawing your thumb lower to his chin. 

You ran it over his speckled face hair, still letting him hug your arm. 

“Mmmmh.. G-gosh, so.. so waaarmm..! waarmm like a maarshmaallooww.. eheeh..!!”

He chuckled in his sleep as his hugging turned into more aggressive snuggling.

It made you wonder if he'd remember anything once he woke up.

Outside of those thoughts, you were heavily caught off guard.

You didn't know if you wanted to comfortingly rub at his hair, continue holding his face, or try to hug him entirely.

Internally? You wanted to do all of those things, but it didn't feel right yet.

Despite all the deep talks you've had with Jamie on the drives and flights to missions together, you guys were still just friends at work, right?

Would it be weird to treat a friend as such? 

Did he think you two were even friends?

You always had a tendency to overthink the simplest of things.

Questions would fog your mind the split second a minor inconvenience popped up, you struggled to help that “problem” all your life.

Yet, your time spent with him so far made it feel like your questioning wasn't a problem at all. 

You always wanted to know the specifics and the “why” or “how” in anything that interested you.

Jamison was similar. He fed into your talks about figuring out what's after death, your master-list of alternatives to milk JUST for enjoying it with cereal. your wonders about what being an omnic felt like, and even your rambles about plants having feelings.

He was so invested into the plant talk that he now avoids stepping on anything green to show you that he cared about nature's heart too.

He admired your outlook on everything, the way you approach things by being your real self.

He also liked that you didn't look down on him for having an explosive personality. 

Everyone else at HQ had something against the lanky robber, but you didn't hate him at all. You two matched each other in the way that you were both transparent and almost always had a fixation or a story to share.

His eyes practically turned into sparkles whenever you two got into your deep conspiracy talks because no one else bothered to entertain his yappering about bombs, especially with mutual ranting about something else.

It was nice, soo..

You guys had to at least be friends, right?

“Mate! Earth’s waitin’ for your grand return! Ya aren’t dead yet.. Are ya, plant woman?”

Friends.. Yeah. You thought you two were cool buddies for all it’s worth.

“Aye! I knooow, me charmin’ physique’s too much to take in aaall at ooonce but-!”

It’s crazy how you were thinking about his eyes sparkling because.. Huh, how come they’re doing it right now?

“I can’t have ya dyin’ on me yet.. Ain’t no doctors around to come and shock ya awake!”

Gosh, who knew the local bombardier had such a twinkle to his eyes anyway?

“Is yer brain workin’? Want me to.. rewire it for ya?”

Twinkle.. twinkle.. twinkle..~

“Well, she’ll be apples! Ya goootta snap outta it mate! What is it ya want this time? An autograph? Some lollies? Aye! Aye..!”

You were so zoned out into the thought of his eyes, you didn’t even register that you were now actually looking at them; he had woken up.

Your hand was still on his face too, but he wasn’t hugging it anymore. 

His robotic right hand was knocking the top of your head lightly while his skinned left one was holding your cheek. 

His facial expression was one of concern despite his messy blonde hair and some drool glistening off the side of his mouth.

With the way he clearly scooted closer to you, you two were actually really close to each other this time.

“Woaahh.. Ooh.. Oh..? OH!!” You froze up again, covering your mouth and (almost literally) getting knocked out of your trance.

“Whew!” Jamison sighed in relief.

“There's me’ plant woman! Turns out me charm was too much for ya to handle afteraaalll!” He chuckled, quickly shifting into a lounging model pose and striking you a sly grin.

“O-Oh.. Oh my gosh! H-How long was I like that?” You panicked a little, wiping sweat from your forehead and quickly rubbing it into the tail of your shirt.

“Since me eyes opened up! Let's say.. ‘bout half a’ hour?”

“H-half an hour?!?”

“Yeah! Are ya alright? Did ya think me eyes were THAT gorgeous?” He chuckled, rubbing his chin. 

“Pshh..” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms once again.

“It’s alright if ya think so! I think so too! But, ya aren’t allowed to tell me fans that! Ehehe~!” He grinned, suddenly wrapping his arms around you and jokingly snuggling his head against the top of yours.

“E-eugh!! Fans my ass! Wait until they find out that you probably don't even wash yours, you stinky!” You exclaimed, trying to push your way out of his arms but to no avail.

“S-stinky?!?! Hey-! There's a’ supa’ top secret special essence in me junker way o’ livin..! T-the cleanest ya'd ever know!! How 'bout ya take a smell~!??” He challenged, immediately shoving his arm pits in your face and keeping you in his grasp.

“GOD! Quit it!! You smell terrible-! Ugh!!! Let me go right now!”

“Nuh-uh! Hatin’ on me wondrous magnificence ain't nice!”

“Your breath's gonna kill me, you bastard! Agh!! You literally need a bath!!!” You were muffling into his arms, trying to push him away even harder. 

You managed to push yourself upwards, but you still were trapped in his grasp as he giggled n’ snuggled away. 

As much as you hated to admit it, his silliness was really comforting, charming in it's own way even.

Yeah.. he didn't smell the best, but!!.. He was kind of fun to be around. It was hardly ever boring around the rat man.

“Fine, whatever,” You sighed, no longer fighting to leave his sweaty arms.

“Your eyes are.. nice to look at. Anyway, I'm tired and somehow comfortable in this position so if you move weirdly, I'm pushing you off the bed.”

He loudly gasped, his eyes widening and sparkling so much so that you could've sworn staring directly into them would've blinded you.

“Y-ya really m-mean it?!!?!! A-about.. me eyes?!? OoooOOoohh~! I.. H-How I could jus’ kis-”

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his head. His face was buried into your chest while his arms were still around you.

You felt him freeze, his immediate blush against your chest practically able to burn through you. He didn't scream or pull away, just sat there for a bit, shocked at someone hugging him back for once.

You sighed out again in content, now leaning your face on top of his head. His hair felt surprisingly soft against your cheek, but he still smelled bad.

“God, you smell so terrible.. but.. you're kinda.. comfy and..- Okay you're actually very comfy what the hell.” 

You gushed, your leaning turning into you practically snuggling against his hair.

The rat man stayed frozen in his position, shock taking over his body. For once, it wasn't one of those triggering shocks that turned his trauma into adrenaline; it was a.. refreshing kind of shock? The kind that was making him realize how starved from affection he really was for so long.

He felt like a deer mesmerized by headlights.

“If only you didn't move so much in your sleep, tsk tsk.. I can totally get over the strong burnt tire smell for how snuggly your hair is thoug-”

“Ihh shay..”

He suddenly muffled through your chest, but quieter than his normal tone.

“Eh?”

One of his fingers twitched.

“..Ihh shay shihh!”

“Fucking- Get out of there and spit it out!”

You pouted, pulling his face out of your chest’s cave to look him in the eyes and hear him properly.

“I-I’ll stay.. still! m-mighty still.. i-if ya keep on.. rubbin’ that pretty face on ma’ skull.. p-please? please mate!!”

‘Absolutely the fuck not!’ is what you almost instinctively said, but something about this weird man’s vulnerability around you gave you a feeling his request wasn’t ill intended. 

He nudged you into a softer tone towards him for the night, so you silently raised a brow. He kept pleading, his sparkling eyes bouncing between you and the rest of the room.

“I-I ain't had anyone.. touch me ‘air, l-let alone me whole body i-in years! Feels comfortin’- so- i- uh- p-please mate! i won't be buggin’ ya’ rest any longer i-if ya felt kind ‘nough to.. perhaps grant me thee honor-!?”

“I’m doing it, so hush up.”

“Y-yes m’lady”

He quickly blurted out, before burying his face back in-between your chest with a relieved giggle.

“Hah, for someone who goes by being a rat, you're sure acting like a puppy right now.”

“Y-ya really think so!?”

“Yeah sure, but- hmph, the ‘junk’ part still applies. I'm so close to dragging you into a bath myself..”

“>:(“

“Wait.. This kinda gives me an idea..” 

A mischievous grin growing on your face as you mumbled to yourself.

“Whaddya say?”

He grumbled, oblivious to your scheming. You slowly tried pulling away from him, but to no avail.. He unconsciously scooted closer into your arms with each pull.

“..nothing, ratty-poo.” 

You pushed him away quickly with your hands now gripping his shoulders.

“A-ay mate! W-whaddya push me away foorrr? I was enjoyin’ me time in there.. :(“

He yelped in response, his arms now crossing with a pout.

“No more snuggling until you take a bath!”

“W-whuh!?”

“I'm not cuddling your hair until you wash it.”

“..noooo :((“

“No shower, no snuggle!!”

“:(((... Fine..”

“W-wait- You're giving in that easil-?”

“JUNK ATTACK!!!!”

He yelled, diving back into your chest with his arms around your waist once again. You scoffed, not cuddling or holding him back.

“Rat-ass.”

“Y-yes m-m’lady..??”

“I'm giving you five seconds to get off of me, or I'll kick you off.-”

“N-no!! P-please mate!-”

“I'll go and grab a bucket of ice cold water to throw at you so help me you don't mov-”

You've never seen a tall grown man back up to the edge of a bed so quickly.

“GO.”

You yelled, pointing violently at the bathroom door.

“NEIN!”

“I SAID GO!”

“NO!”

“You want more cuddles from me, right, ratty-poo..?~”

Your tone softened as you twirled your hair and pleaded your eyes at him.

“I- u-uh- y-yes m-m'lady but-”

“THEN GO BATHE!”

He whined another ‘no’ in response, crossing his legs and arms while looking away.

You sighed, before crawling across the bed and hooking your arm around his.

“Lord.. What am I gonna do with you..”

“W-well I- AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!”

“GET YOUR ASS IN THAT SHOWER JAMIE!!”

You yelled again as you held him in a headlock position.

As he whined, you held him there for a bit, thinking.

“Hmm..”

“You l-let go of me t-this instant mate! T-the junkers back in me home town w-wont be pleased with how you're behavin’ towards me greatnes-”

“What if we took a bath together?”

“-and once they find out what you've- huh-!?!”

“You and me, we bathe together. I'll literally help you clean up if it means you won't stink in bed.”

You said casually as you quickly faced him towards you and dropped him onto the bed. He landed on his back with his arms above his head while you sat on top of him.

Questionable position if you may, but you dare not complain about the view.

He was too in shock to notice it either.

He stared at you wide eyed. 

He opened his mouth and put a finger up to say something multiple times, only to close it with more thought and look away, his finger curling up and down with each pause.

He thought about the offer for the long time.

Then, he rubbed his chin. You watched carefully, not letting your guard fall in case he felt like randomly wrapping himself around you again.

“Hmph.. if t-that’s what it'll take.. then I suppose a.. mighty handsome fella like me.. wouldn't mind bathin’ with a.. pretty.. f-flower woman like you!”

“Uh huh..-”

“B-but under one of me’ own conditions!”

“.. you're what now-”

“Bath cuddles?”

He clapped his hands together in a praying motion, pleading with those damn sparkly eyes again. It's like he just does it in command at this point..

“God, what are we, a couple?”

You yawned with closed eyes. 

“I-I.. W-well! Your one an’ only gentleman of’uh bombardier wouldn't complain!”

He nervously smiled and blushed, his gold tooth shining comically as he said that.

It earned a giggle out of you, followed with covered mouth mumbling.

‘You’re so silly, it's kind of attractive..’

“Whaddya say, me’ pretty plant-y mistress?”

“I said, you're so silly, it's kind of.. u-uh- cool-? I guess??!? I don't- Mistress!?- I- W-whatever- C’mon, let's go! Into the baaathh we goo..! C’mon c’moonn..”

You spurted out, getting up and dragging him by the arm into the bathroom. 

You didn't really think through the fact that.. this man would be so close to you while you two were undressed.

Oddly enough, he didn't give the vibe of someone who'd try anything, but it was still weird. 

One second you're forced to share a bed with this guy.. And the next? You've convinced him to take a shower with you??? Weird..-o!!

When you two made it, you both kind of just stared at the bathroom and each other for a minute. 

It was a decently sized room, but the entirety of it was a shower.. literal shower room?.. whatever.

There wasn't a sink or toilet like the bathrooms you were used to. 

Instead, there was just one large shower head in the center of the room, a drain in a corner, and tiles that patterned the floor and walls in a creamy gradient. The two handles for the shower were next to the doorway, labeled for their temperatures.

There were also two slim windows higher up on two walls facing each other, slightly cracked for the steam.

The only light you guys had came from either these windows, or from the doorway to the room you shared, so it was acceptably dim.

Some vines creeped through corners here and there, but it was surprisingly much cleaner than the rest of the hut you guys stayed in. The non-direct warm lighting really set the vibe.

As you turned both of the handles halfway, you watched in surprise as the rat man happily stripped at whatever he had on, going for a dive on the shower floor as if it were a kid’s waterslide with a ‘yippee!!’

It immediately followed with a groan of pain from him, and a reactive facepalm from you.

With a sigh of ‘Oh, what I'll even do with him..’ (ironic), you quickly undid your hair and stripped off your clothes while he wasn't looking.

He swiveled around right as you finished, watching in awe as you awkwardly shuffled onto the floor next to him with a travel sized bottle of soap and a mini loofa.

“S-ssheesh..” he gaped, “what a beautiful woman..”

“T-thanks, b-but don't look too hard, silly guy.” You joked lightheartedly and rolled your eyes, your initiative agenda from before going out of the window because of the attractive man in front of you.

The hot steamy water combined with how it washed away some of the rat man’s dirt made his revealed skin slightly harder to not drool over..

..but you fought any urges or sudden fantasies you had right then and there. 

‘It’s just the lack of sleep getting to me,’ you quickly scolded yourself in your head, ‘.. there's no way I shoul- COULD see him like that, yep..’

“You're.. not too shabby yourself..” You muttered to get it out of your system, painfully controlling your hands from wandering. Thankfully, he probablyyy didn't hear you. 

With that, you were getting to work with your soap on his arms, trying not to think too hard about the man before you.

“Caaan I have me cuddlin’ time with ya noooww, plant womaaan?”

“Noo! I just started with you and I'm not done yet, rat-head.. Be patient n’ be quiet.” You grumbled, finishing his arms and scrubbing his back like a concerned mother.

“Pleeeaaaaseeee…????” He covered his eyes and whined as you made way to his torso with your loofah. The scrubber was barely holding on and you weren't anywhere near finished..

“Don't make me tie you down in here just to get you clean, bastard..” You threatened, moving from his back to his front side. You held at one side of his torso, scrubbing away.

He moved his hands from his face to his sides, looking down at you with that puzzled gaze once again. You glanced up at him with a raised brow before looking back down at your work.

You weren't actually all too irritated. Tired, yes, but it was actually kind of destressing being able to work your hands at something like this. 

You were also literally.. bathing a grown ass man, but you'd be lying if you said anything about preferring to be at home, bored and alone.

At least this mission gave you some kind of purpose, and alongside an entertaining goofball as well. It could be much worse, but it really wasn't bad at all which you liked.

Suddenly, he started patting your head, a close eyed grin on his face.

“Oouuhh… M-mate, ya know.. Thanks a lot for this! I appreciate ya’, I really do!”

“Don't sweat it, poo-face, you were already sweating enough in bed anyway..” You chuckled with another playful eye roll.

“If you weren't gonna bathe yourself, something had to be done for BOTH OF us to catch some rest for the mission, and goddess KNOWS I can't sleep with a loud stinky man..” You responded mindlessly, gently grabbing his face by his jaw and scrubbing his neck.

“It gets.. hard sometimes,” he threw his head back with a sigh, “I know I'm supposed ‘tuh.. do it all me’ self but, I lose me’ mind to the world o’ bombs!” He chuckled.

“You don't say…” You coughed with sarcasm, still listening and cleaning. He's used to your personality by now, and he knows you never really mean any harm.

“Oh, but I do! Even with me’ prosthetics, it jus’ makes it harder n’.. I could never fancy the time to.. uh.. keep takin’ em’ on n’ off..”

“..It bugs me, the pain, it's a reeaall.. buggin' feeling, both in me’ arms n’ legs.. n’.. the mind. It does somethin’ to ya, makes people call ya crazy!” He gestured by wiggling his normal arm, then his robotic one in comparison. 

You put his arms down like an annoyed cat, but you weren't actually annoyed, just trying to reach over him to attempt washing his hair.

“..but really ‘m not.. I.. I just resort to.. expressin’ what takes it all away.. and uh! bein’ me!, ya’ kno- Aauh.. T-that feels.. holy..” He cut himself off, sighing in relief. You had bowed his head under the running water for you to better reach him, unknowingly giving him a more direct view of your bare chest. 

“A-Anything to take me’ mind off the.. A-ahem-.. the uh.. rot.. the distinct feelin’ of not bein’ the same as everyone else.. anymore.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly trying not to stare as he spoke, but you didn't think much about it.

“People stay clear of me all the time! N’ they think I don't be noticin’ b-but I do!” He ran a hand through his hair after you moved down to his legs.

“It hurts, but.. I just keep doin’ me’, I try not to stay in me’ past, live for me’ mum, n’ keep it movin’!”

“Oh! That's also why I like ya’ mate!” He smiled, throwing up finger guns.

“Whuh- Really?” You looked at him.

“Yeah! You don't treat me funny for me’ quirks! You always seemed like.. a couple screws loose in somebody’s noggin never bothered ya’! Me’ motors don't drive ya’ wild, do I?” 

“Pshhh… You definitely drive me crazy, but that doesn't mean I'm never down for a wild adventure with you, rat-ass.”

“See? Ya’ get me! I know your tired n’ all, n’ I'm sorry for takin’ away from your beauty rest like this but..” He scratched his chin and sighed, looking to the side.

“Thanks mate, r-really..” He mumbled, shuffling closer and wrapping his arms around you for a genuine hug.

“I- U-uh-.. Your.. welcome? All I've done was treat you like.. a normal human being? As you.. should be?” You awkwardly hugged him back, confused.

You pulled away, your hands on his shoulders.

“Despite our friendship, I don't know what it is you've REALLY really been through, but no matter how tired or over it I may seem, I still think you're hella cool of a guy.” You warmed up to his hug, patting his back.

“Whenever you wanna chat about.. literally anything in the world, you know who to come to, silly.. Seriously, don't ever sweat it.” You smiled and yawned, going back to washing his upper body off for a second, more gentler time. 

You were surprised he didn't question the hot water in hot weather or how quickly it managed to cool you guys off. It was definitely making you more sleepy though.

“T-thanks, plant woman..” He wiped away a tear, sighing with a contentful “aah” as you tended to him. He leaned back, taking in the feeling of your care.

“Ya know, you're reeaaal good at this.. are ya’, perhaps, experienced ‘n bathing other people?” 

“Wh- This is.. how baths are meant to be taken, no?”

“T-together??!? Mate, I’d kill to have this luxury of bein’ cleaned by ya’ like this all the time!!”

“Whuh- No! I m-meant.. the soap and water, you fucking peanut.”

“Ooh.. W-well!” he pointed a finger up, “I don't care ‘bout standin’ under some lousy water for a’ hour! But.. ya’ make me want to if it means you'll be the one cleanin’ me!”

“You're an adult, Jamie.”

“Don't forget me’ prosthetics-”

“They're literally waterproof sealed..”

“How would ya’ even know that!?”

“You told me this in our past rant sessions, twice I might add.. Something about avoiding radiactiv-”

“Screw you, mate! ( ` ﾛ ´ )”

“..You probably would though. (>ᴗ•)”

☆ if anyone actually makes it this far, tysm for reading!! feedback is 100% welcomed and appreciated <33

☆ i promise ill get the smut out for this eventually.. ill also make a pinned request post soon!! with graduation coming up, im a bit busy :((.. BUT ITLL ALL COME!

☆ ^^ update, here it is!!

☆ enjoy ur day/night yall! eat, stay hydrated, and keep loving junkrat fr ♡( ◡‿◡ )

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - We Are Fucked - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"The Ditch. It's not far from the Shimmer Fields, is it?"

"It's not." Sevika's breath comes as if drawn through a pinched straw. "That's where the 'and then some' comes in."

Silco braces himself.

"The fields, sir." She swallows. "They're dead. Whatever that blue shit last night was—it's burnt them to a crisp."

"Burnt?"

"The blackflower reserves. The harvest vats. The processing plants. It's all gone."

"Even the stockpiles?"

"There's nothing left. Not a petal, leaf, or stalk. The blast wiped everything out."

Her eyes, gunmetal in rings of black, lock on his. There's no fear or denial there. Only the hard bullseye of certainty.

We, her eyes say, are fucked.

Silco concurs, with a single nod.

Shimmer is Zaun's beating heart. If it flatlines, the city is finished. Their main export is gone; their industries will tank. Breakthroughs with medicinal Shimmer will go belly-up. Backdoor deals with the Council will fall apart. Their footholds in Piltover's economy—all that painstaking groundwork over the months—will crumble.

Investors will flee in a mass exodus. The chem-barons will turn on him like a pack of rabid dogs.  The rest of his network will fracture and cannibalize itself. All the strays he's sheltered—Dustin, Ran, Lock, Avi, Posky—will be flung back to the old hell of bloodsports, human auctions, and streetside debasement. Dustin will end up OD'ing before the month is done. Ran will wind up on the slaver's chopping block. Lock will fall back to the fighting pits, a dead-eyed shell of his old self. Avi will fly straight into Bilgewater, only to be blasted into fish-fodder. Posky, poor boy, will end up in some brothel's basement: the kind with cages, where the clients get to choose their favorite cut of meat.

And Sevika?

She'll survive. Of that, he has no doubt. But he'd lose her. Not as his bedmate or his XO; he'd lose her faith. And, in losing it, win a knife to the ribs.

Sevika's not the type to forgive betrayal of that scale.

Nor can he fault her.

He'd promised them a brighter tomorrow. Promised a future, not an endless present of pain. A city that was more than a safe harbor, but an ethos, an ideology, an unshakable self-belief.

Now, that promise is in shreds.

There's a saying in the Undercity: A disloyal motherfucker is born dead every minute.

For Silco, it'll be a fitting epitaph.

He dares not seek Medarda's aid. She'll never condescend to bankroll an exportless economy; her gold, when she deigns to dole it out, is not alms, but a gauntlet. Prove yourself worthy, or perish. Now, having already invested so heavily in their partnership, she won't cut her losses right off. But he'll be left in the unenviable position of owing her his balls on a golden platter.

She will make the most of the meal. She'll leverage his failure for her own ends: leverage him along with it. Silco shudders to imagine his ambitions shredded like sweetmeats between her pretty white teeth. Feels the shudder deepen to icewater as he pictures Medarda standing over him, gloved fingers on his chin, forcing his eyes up. Smiling as she orders him to take it all down his throat: his pride, his dignity, and all that gold.

She'd enjoy it, the bitch.

And after she's had her fun—dragged him to the gutter of her satisfaction and the slaughterhouse of his self-respect—she'll hand him off. To the next bored blueblood with a fetish for slumming it, or simply to the high courts for his crimes against her Council.

He'll be back where he'd begun: a rat on the run, with no recourse except a fast-track to ruin.

And Jinx—

Silco breathes. In, and out. Wills the pressure in his lungs to recede. Wills the terror to a place where it can't touch him. Wills himself to a place where nothing touches him, and lives: the place where the Monster is submerged. 

And, as blood pools between the Monster's teeth, he thinks:

You’ll never drag me back down: whole or in pieces.

I’ll kill every last one of you before I let that happen.

I’ve got nothing left to lose. Nothing but Jinx.

And to keep her, he'll burn down whatever's left of his soul. Will turn the whole goddamned city to dust.

Watch it burn.

[author-morgan]

Title: Daylight Rating: M Pairing: Arthur x fem!Reader Summary: Arthur always knew you and he would make a fine match. ...hiding all of our sins from the daylight... I've now collected all(?) your husbands for my infinity gauntlets. a late merry christmas and an early valentines for you boo. @mrsragnarlodbrok.

“SORRY,” ARTHUR MUTTERS, “hands are rough.” He noticed how you pulled away from his calloused touch as he pressed the stained damp cloth against the bloody wound on the back of your shoulder—remnants of an arrow after Bedivere and the Mage helped him dig out the bodkin point. It’d likely been meant for him in the heat of the battle and he cursed himself seeing you fall nigh feet from him, pulled away to shelter by his kingsguard. Even with the power of Excalibur, he’d been unable to protect you—an age-old promise broken.

You lift your gaze from the charred stone floor, looking at your reflections in a fogged-over mirror on the opposite side of the room. Focus has his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. “You always say that,” you tell him, words slurred from the pain, exhaustion, and strongwine, and voice rougher than normal. This isn’t the first time Arthur Pendragon has tended your hurts and woes, and at this rate you doubt it’ll be the last.

Dried blood and sweat washed away, Arthur picks up the piece of tree bark with a salve prepared by the Mage to stave off the pain for a while and keep the wound from festering. Then, Arthur binds the wound with fresh linen and wipes his hands, kneeling in front of you—hands resting on your hips. You lay your hand on his cheek, thumb sweeping across his cheek, marred with dirt and soot. Leaning toward him, he meets you halfway, and you set your lips on his—a soft, fleeting kiss like the touch of butterfly wings.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you tell him, fingertips mindlessly combing through the scruff on his jaw. He straightens to full height but does so with a grimace. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” You ask again.

“Just bruises,” he assures you, and this time, it seems like he’s being truthful, besides the few scratches on his hands and the slim, already scabbed-over, cut on his forehead. 

Arthur sits next to you on the edge of the bed, looking toward the open balcony. You both can hear the joyous shouts and chants. Bedivere and the others will only be able to satiate the men for so long. They will want to hear from the one who led them to victory. From the Born King. “They’ll be waiting for you to give a speech,” you tell him. 

“They’re waiting to go headfirst into the barrels of grog,” he amends, but if the out-of-tune songs are anything to go off of...  

“Sounds like they already have,” you laugh. Tonight, there will be revelries for the victory against Vortigern and his forces. In the following days, there’ll be feasts to honor the fallen and growing lists of preparations for a coronation. But right now, Arthur Pendragon doesn’t want to be a king just yet. Right now, he’s content just to be Arthur the street rat, especially when you lean your head against his shoulder and link your fingers through his—and then he’s certain there’s no one else in all of England for him except you.

“HIDING FROM ME? Or everyone else?” Your head quickly swivels to the side, only to relax at the sight of Arthur approaching. You cannot help but wonder how he isn’t cold. He's not dressed anywhere near as layered or warm as he should be for the winter evening, but somehow, he manages to look cozy even in just a scarlet linen-and-wool doublet. Stepping back, your eyes flit up to the scarlet-tinged leaves, still clinging to the branches of the white-bark birch, before looking beyond to the fresh falling snow. 

He stops at your side and looks up, too. “Was just thinking about what a bad influence you’ve been on my person,” you tell him, a small half-smirk creeping onto your features. Arthur tilts his head back in amused question, then stares up at the leaves and the silver sliver of the moon peeking through the winter clouds. “As I recall, I was an innocent girl before you came along and ruined all that.”

His blue eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You’ll have to refresh my memory on how I did that, darlin’.” He moves a little closer, and you sense his ploy, twisting and ducking when he moves to grab you. 

You face him with brows raised, smiling. “Such a brute,” you taunt, “grabbing at innocent girls in the castle courtyards at night. Is that any way for the King of England to behave?” 

Arthur only rolls his eyes, trying to smother another smirk, and this time, he catches your arm as you move around him. It takes little strength to move you how he wants—pressing you into the trunk of the great tree at the heart of the courtyard. His hands press against the smooth bark beside your head as he leans in enough to look down at you. The glint in his eyes is mirthful, but there’s something else shining in his gaze too—you’ve seen that look a dozen times now, and you’re almost afeared to think about what it can mean. “Maybe you have a point,” he drawls, wearing that crooked, boyish grin that makes your heart flutter.

Your laugh almost catches him off guard. His hand slips down to run gently along your waist, the other toys with the hair at the side of your head. You lean back into the tree more, relaxing as your hands find his waist to rest on. “My father sends his kind, innocent daughter to study in Londinium, and what does this strong, noble boy do?” Arthur raises his brow. “He shoves her against a wall in an alleyway because he has no reasonable way of expressing his feelings with words.” He was just a street rat orphan and you were the daughter of some fancy lord from far away—opposites in nigh every way but more alike than you ever could have imagined. “I was never the same after that.”

His head dips down into the crook of your neck, nose training across your throat and inhaling the scent of roses and lavender. “No,” he smiles, voice low—more of a muttering husk—lips twitching as he pulls back, glancing to your lips and up, “but you’re more fun now.” Your expression falls flat, and Arthur laughs. It’s nigh impossible not to grin or melt at the sound and how little it seems you’ve heard it of late—and by Merlin’s beard, he’s impossibly handsome with laugh lines crinkling the edges of his eyes and a lopsided smile. Leaning further into him, his breath dances across your cheek, the back of his fingers brushing along your neck. 

You exhale shakily, and Arthur teases you again with light presses of his lips along your jaw and neck—hands smoothing up and down your waist as he does. For a moment, your hands find their way to his chest before you remember how open the courtyard is and that anyone can happen upon the two of you like this. Glancing around, you breathe his name in a flustered whisper, hand pressing against his chest—the last thing a new king needs is rumors to turn into scandal. 

Arthur takes a step back, giving you both room, but then there’s a new glint in his eyes. The playful mirth disappears from his cornflower eyes, replaced by something more serious—kingly, even. It’s something he’s been thinking about for years. Maybe even since the two of you first met by happenstance in the streets of Londinium and struck up an odd friendship. But over the years, Arthur thinks he cannot just call you a friend, not anymore. What he feels runs deeper than that, and given his newfound title and responsibilities...“I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“And does it pay well?” You quip in a poor attempt to lighten the now solemn mood.

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, unable to hide how his lips quirk upwards. “Would you let me finish?” And so you do, unsure what he must say or ask that warrants such a dramatic change in his usual demeanor. Arthur reaches for your hand, the rough pads of his fingers curling around and into your palm. He stoops forward, lips brushing against your knuckles—reverent. “I’d like you to stay,” he breathes, straightening back to full height. Your brows furrow. “Here,” he adds, “with me.”

You know what he is asking of you—marriage—and it should be an easy answer. Yes, of course. You’ve loved Arthur since before you knew what the word truly meant. But given the events of the last few months and the precipitousness of his proposal, you’re left speechless, heart beating in your throat until all you can do is run to the haven of your chambers with tears pricking your eyes.

A LOUD KNOCK on the great wooden door echoes in your bedchambers. You rouse from sleep, righting the oversized tunic hanging off one shoulder in an attempt to appear decent at the late hour. Part of you already knows who will be waiting on the other side, but when you crack open the door, it still surprises you to find him standing before you—wearing only a loose, nigh threadbare tunic and pair of dark britches. “Arthur,” you greet, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before motioning for him to come in.

There’s still an uneasy air between you after the earlier events and conversation in the courtyard—his proposal. “I shouldn’t’ve….” he starts as you do. “I should not...” You both fall silent, eyes searching the other’s face for an indication of who will be the first to speak, the first to act, but there’s only silence. 

“Yes,” you quickly tell him—the shock of his initial proposal has faded, and now you’ve never been more certain about something in your life. You still can’t say what it is that caused you to react in such a way—Arthur’s the only man you’ve ever loved, the only person you could have ever thought of having a life with, even before all this Born King shite. The answer is ‘yes.’ It had always been. 

“Yes?” He repeats with furrowed brows, not sure he’s heard you correctly.  “I’ll stay” —you reach to comb your fingers through his close-shorn beard, and he leans into the touch— “with you.” Forever.

He smiles, and it’s as though a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Arthur cradles your face in his hands, thumbs running over your cheekbones. You smile for him, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours in an instant.

You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer. Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” Arthur asks, breathless.

Then he’s kissing you again and again—hands straying to your waist and backside, pulling you closer, tighter. And it fans the embers burning low in your belly to flames. Arthur breaks the kiss with an anguished groan—fighting a losing war with himself. He brushes back the hair falling in front of your face, the rough pad of his thumb running over your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he mutters—it’s almost a plea. And then he’s adrift in your soft and dark gaze, knowing if you do nothing to stop this, he’ll be acting on countless years of love and pent-up desire.

“No,” you breathe, catching his wrist and sliding his hand up from your neck—peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and with a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts.

“Arthur.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer. “I want you.” He pulls on the string at the neck of your nightshirt, loosening it until the gauzy material falls off your shoulders—puddling around your ankles, 

Though bare, you still hold his clear blue gaze. He goes silent as he draws in a sharp breath—eyes dart over the length of your body. His eyes darken, though, a mix of lust and adoration. “Think this is the longest you’ve been qui–” He cuts you off with a kiss, and one of his hands rises to cradle your cheek—the side of your neck again—and his lips coax yours open.

You sigh into his mouth, hands instinctively dipping under the hem of his roughspun tunic, fingertips trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen and the scar on his ribs. Arthur breaks the kiss, quickly shrugging off his shirt, and lets the undyed piece of wool fall to the floor.  

Then, suddenly, he lifts you off your feet effortlessly. You hastily grip his shoulders for balance until he lays you on the bed—standing back to take off his trousers, and you watch him with a weird mixture of hunger and wistfulness as he strips. Arthur kicks aside his discarded clothes, then crawls onto the bed, making room for himself between your thighs—his clear and cold gaze burning with the warmth of the Sun and never once straying from yours.

You gaze tensely at his face as he studies you. His expression is greedy and appreciative, and the firelight glowing in his eyes just makes him look all the more ardent, and the longer he stares at you without doing anything, the more restless you are for him to act. You want his touch, his cock, his lips on yours, and all he’s giving you is this appreciative greedy stare, and it’s not enough.

Arthur kisses you again, and then he leans away from your lips and kisses the angle of your jaw. His mouth travels to the side of your neck, and your pulse flutters in your throat. His lips are surprisingly soft, and as his mouth trails from your neck to your collarbone, the delicacy of his kisses makes you feel lightheaded —a mix of pleasure and disbelief. 

He nuzzles your collarbone, then places a kiss just above the swell of your breast, and you arch helplessly toward his mouth. The heat of his breath wafting over your breast, making your nipples go taut with anticipation, and when the scruff of Arthur’s beard brushes over your nipple, you jolt and make a helpless little mewling sound. You twine your fingers into his golden hair, trying to hold him in place against you. But Arthur shoots you a quick smile, then shuffles lower on the bed still and kisses your breast —and you twist your hips, hands slipping from his hair to his shoulders.  

A sob leaves your throat—not a crying kind of sob, but an instinctive noise tore from your throat without your permission. He lifts his mouth from your breast and smiles at you, and you stare stupidly at his handsome face—the spark in his clear eyes and the boyish smirk twisting his lips.

Arthur palms your breast and squeezes gently. He shuffles lower still on the bed and places a sweet, open-mouthed kiss on your navel, and your sense of surreal disbelief ratchets to a nearly unbearable degree. His mouth drifts lower now, the scruff of his beard tickling your belly as he presses his lips to the skin below your navel and eases your thighs further apart.

Arthur places a kiss between your legs, and your mind goes blank with pleasure. 

“You alright, darlin’?” He smirks. You stare at him, too stunned by pleasure to find a clever response. Instead, riled by the teasing sparkle in his face, you spread your knees wide. His gaze drops between your legs, and his expression darkens with interest as he places his hands on your knees—stroking up to your thighs. He places another firm, wet kiss between your legs, and a helpless moan leaves your lips, and he hums with approval, a smug, half-growly little hum.  

You gasp in a breath, realizing you haven’t been breathing at all. Arthur lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Relax, love,” he croons, smoothing his palm over your belly as he laps at your cunt with slow hot sweeping strokes of his tongue. It’s not long before a finger presses into you, working you slowly open.

Your hips jerk softly along with his movements, and there’s unspoken interest in his gaze as he stares down at you, relentless in his efforts to see you come undone. His tongue and lips are at your clit, fingers stroking and curling deep within you. You jolt, and then he moves slower, dragging over the sensitive spots he’s discovered inside you and leaving your nerves tingling with every touch.

Pleasure washes over you in waves, making your calves twitch, your fingertips feel numb, and that high-pitched mewling noise leaves your throat. Overwhelmed—enraptured—you buck your hips toward his face and clench your fingers convulsively in his hair, and he keeps licking and kissing you until you can’t take it anymore. You pull on his hair to stop him, and he finally pulls away, lips glistening in the moonlight and fading glow of the firelight. “Enough,” you groan. “Need you.” It’s nigh a broken plea.

You shudder as he moves, situating himself between your thighs, calloused fingers dipping into your cunt to gather your slick and spread on his hard cock as he strokes himself. “Arthur, please,” you whimper, impatient, and he won’t keep you waiting.

He slides his cock through your folds before his angle changes just slightly, and on the next pass, your breath stutters as his cockhead presses just inside you—barely splitting you open. Arthur’s hand grabs your hip and angles you up just a bit so he can slide deeper inside you, and you cling onto his biceps—feeling his scars press into your palms and admiring the way his muscles flex under your touch. 

Arthur hisses through his teeth when he fully seats himself inside your warmth, then releases his breath slowly and smiles at you. “You’re lovely,” he murmurs, twining his fingers through yours, pressing the back of your hands into the mattress. From the moment Arthur first saw you in the Londinium streets, he knew your fates were intertwined—just as your bodies and hands were now. He trembles at this personal heaven, then draws his hips back, starting to move.

You laugh breathlessly, mindlessly. “Charmer,” you pant, hooking your legs around his waist. You roll into his thrusts, pulling him deeper. His ragged breaths and grunts mingle with your sighs of pleasure—panting scarcely keeping up with your racing heart. 

He huffs in amusement. “Can’t say that’s something I get called often,” Arthur says as he pumps his hips slowly, teasing you and pleasing you almost more than you can bear. Then he lowers his lips to yours in a kiss—there’s something sweet on his tongue, like honey wine. 

His whole body begins moving, surging, and writhing against yours. One of his hands releases yours and caresses your cheek before he slides it down your body. Without thought, your body arches into his hand as it moves, ripening under his touch—thoughts clouded by lust and love. His fingers find your clit at the same time his mouth latches to your neck.

Another guttural cry bursts from your lips. He’s pounding into you now, and he’s still holding your hand while his other grips your hip. Your breathing is loud, and so is his, and his hand is tightening on your fingers. He drags in a breath, then expels it in a strained groan.

He shudders, then pounds into you hard, twice, thrice, and then he pauses with his cock deep inside of you. His jaw clenches, and his grip on your hip is so tight that it’s almost painful, but you like it—just as much as you like the guttural sound he makes as he shudders in completion. A few long seconds later, he gasps in a breath, then sighs and releases your hand. “Fuck,” he groans, holding his weight above you on shaking arms. 

You beckon him to lie atop you, his golden head pillowed on your breasts as his breathing steadies, sighing when you kiss his hair and whisper a quiet, I love you, for him to relish. He stays sheathed inside your warmth, unwilling to part just yet. “I love you,” he murmurs in turn, never tiring of how you smile when he says the words. Sighing, he rolls to the side, and you whine at the loss of him and the empty feeling between your thighs.

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Arthur presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair as the first dregs of daylight break over the horizon, shining upon England, Camelot, and his future wife and queen.

[Forever taglist: @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @rigshak ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my forever taglist, or any other character/fandom taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[therobotmonster]

My Turtles of Grayskull 'Druthers

Okay, since the line is apparently not a limited-concept run but is going to instead run till the doors fall off, I'm gonna lay out my hopes and dreams for sweet-as-heck dumb conceptual mashups.

Lets stick some silly chocolate and some stupid-fun peanut butter together and make a decent candy and an awesome cereal.

I might be hungry.

Anyhow, lets make some monsters!

Ace Duck

I love the Tales of the Gold Monkey-inspired pilot Ace Duck more than the next guy, but this is MOTU we're dealin' with, we need ARCHIE Ace Duck.

He's literally born to be here. Basic body, skeletor feet, reuse the April O'Neil wings, little red thong or trunks (from the wrasslin' line), plus he can get stratos's little arm wings, and an alt head with the Stratos Mask on (evoking a lucha dore mask).

Ty-Gor - NInjor / Tigerclaw (but green!)

Ninjor gets mutated with Eternian Tiger DNA to become Ty-Gor.

Not limiting myself to the Fred Wolf era here. Basically its Ninjor with a Tigerclaw head (masked and two-eyed, unmasked and eyepatched), only with the green with orange stripes eternian tiger coloration. He gets a terror-claws skeletor claw, an eternian six-shooter (later usable for Rio-Blast) and the beastliest feet they can muster.

Mutant Evil-Lyn

Seeking to empower herself with this new "mutation" magic, Evil-Lyn made a potion of mutagen and Mantisaur venom. Ironically not her worst scheme.

Mantenna pelvis with new insect legs, Evil-Lyn torso with humanoid and mantisaur-mutant heads (still wearing her tiara as a mantisaur), slip-over mantis-claw weapons.

Kurai-Khan

I mean, it's not like she hasn't been here before. Lore establishes the Eternian magic gives her full control over her snake-form, and the ability to command the snake men... save for the Ratsnake King.

Deluxe figure, reusing a LOT of Lady Slither, But using Stephanie McMahon legs and torso, some new snake-gauntlets and a swappable set of heads. Snake-head has the spit-fx feature from Kobra Khan, flared cobra hood. And a katana, obviously.

General Pig-Iron - Pig-Head / General Traag (By way of Rokkon)

Krang's mutagenic experiments continue, this time he combines Sun-Man's Pig-Head and the Rock-Soldiers' DNA to make one stone-tough pigheaded warmonger.

The sculpt is mostly Rokkon, with a new stony pighead-face and more Traag-y chest (with ammo bandolier to mimic Pig-Head, 'natch)

The Ratsnake King - Rat King / King Hiss

Disappointed by the Rat-King's failures, Skeletor fuses him with the shed skin of King Hiss via sorcery and good old fashioned mutagen. The new horror can command serpents that were beyond even King Hiss's reach.

Ratsnake King uses the King hiss snake parts, with a new head & chest armor built on a mummy-esq reinterpretation of Rat King, snake-y crossbow and staff. Give him the Reptilax tail so he's a little snakey even in his 'human' form, he's a mutant, after all.

Mutagen-Man-E-Faces

This idea is from @skeletor-enjoyer who posted it in the replies to my previous glow-up post on this dumb-as-heck (affectionate) line.

This one's easy. New torso that allows for the Man-E-faces gimmick and a clear torso that can hold a gooey guts insert. Human face looks like nonmutant Seymour Gutz, Robot face replaced with foot-soldier (toonstyle) face, monster face is a hybrid MM/MEF monster face.

New limbs that will later be reused for Slushhead. Multiple replacement hands/limbs (clawful hand, etc) to simulate mutation/shapeshifting powers.

Foot 'Sploders - Foot soldiers / Blast-Attack

Krang: You know what Skeletoooorrruup? I like the iDEa of robots that are SUPPOSED to exPLooowwddee! Why can't YOU be this kind of go-getter Saaaaakiiii?

Shredder: You always undermine me in front of the crossover villains!

Skeletor: Don't stop on my account! I haven't had this much fun since Grizzlor fell into the slime pit! NYAH!

Excuse to make a somewhat functional Blast-Attack chest. Foot Soldier head with cartoon bomb in place of the foot symbol, long forearm sculpt (useful for 200X Beast Man) with arm-shield accessories. Tons of weapons. Legs from various wrasslers' with pants/boots.

Doctor Orkocutt the Fugilock

Orko uses his magic to fix the Fugitoid, but the spell goes awry, merging them into a single magi-technical absentminded genius. They work better this way, but trouble is bound to follow.

Orko Body, with premolds for a Netflix Orko in Classicverse arms, and a new fugiod-in-a-wizard-hat-head, with many many exchangeable hands.

Mutant Buzz-Off - Buzz-off/Killer Bee

A partially-translucent mutant like He-Man and the other corrupted hero mutants, only Buzz-Off is... kinda wild... wild enough I had to photoshop, albeit in a Q&D...

The basic idea is mutant Buzz-Off uses Mantenna's legs, Mosquitor's torso, a new head that's still compatible with the Mosquitor-grabber, Buzz-Off's left arm, Clawful's right, alt head of grimacing half-killer-bee Buzz_off. The goo is green or purple instead of red, for a mutagen-feature.

If compatible with the Mantenna legs, using the Buzz-Off feet is preferable, the same with the Skeleton Warrior arm and the left arm.

Bionaceraton - Triceraton / Bionatops

Ancient power arises as a Preternian ancestor to the Triceratons is awakened.

I mean, once again we pull out the Andre the Giant mold, this time giving it a tail and a Triceraton head, and slightly remolded chest armor. Garnish with sci-fi guns, put out in a handsome green colorscheme.

Mutant She-Ra - She-Ra / Swiftwind

Having last been in contact with Swiftwind before exposure to the mutagen, She-Ra's becomes an uncontrollable mutant Pegasus.

Am I suggesting they put a Unicorn head and Sorceress Wings on She-Ra, possibly with new 'buff gal' limbs that would make a Netflix-inspired Scorpia Possible? Yes. Yes I am. She's got a unicorn-horn spear weapon and is filled with a horselike rage.

Optikk

Look, its the TMNT crossover. You are required to have at least one of the New Adventures Mutants there, and Optikk is the most on-brand for the concept.

You can make him out of mostly Roboto Parts with a new armor piece for the collar and a new eyeball-head. Or just make the collar lock onto the head joint and have a free-spinning eye.

Mona Lis-Ra - Mona Lisa / She-Ra

Someone has to use the power sword while She-Ra's a nightmare mutant abomination!

It's pretty straightforward, She-Ra torso and upper arms/legs, new finned female lower arms and legs, new tailed female pelvis, new head. She-Ra's gear plus some extras to be shape-shifted forms for the sword.

Savanti Romeo and Renet

They're just there They're already designed for this world. To justify it, they have... uh... Savante has the dragon blast dragon that was used with Ricky the Steamboat Dragon, and Renet has... uh.. the time staff thing Gwildor used. Yeah, that's the ticket!

Bonus Round: Obligatory A-Character Variants:

TechnoWizard Dontatello - Backdoor Donatello #1 figure.

Anti-Eternia Raphael - Archie Comics fans know why.

Mutant Teela - She's a snake, again! This time give her a real snake head and a tail guys.

Mutant Skeletor - Goat Skull head, goat legs.

That's it for now, but even though many of these are a stretch, I'm sure it demonstrates the blood isn't nearly squeezed from this stone.

[golubichkalive]

hello everyone, friends, Gabriella is with you

and today I will tell you about such indispensable things in rat racing as leggings, and how to dress them correctly

do you see this little knot at the end of the gauntlet? this knot should be worn on shoes so that the leggings do not fall off and all that

that's how you need to dress, up to the ledge on the shoes

and you probably ask, "Gabi, how do you figure out which leggings to wear on your right foot and which ones on your left?" and I will answer you that you need to look at the zipper, it is necessary that the zipper be on the outside of the leg, since if it is on the inside, you can hurt a rat by rubbing its side with a zipper

and this is what the leggings on the leg look like. great, now you know what leggings are, and what they are for, everyone has a good workout and have fun

[wolsalwastaken]

Fall From Grace, a DMAU multishot

C/w for descriptions of fighting, gore, and death

1/???

“Kneel before me and return the crown, Rat.”

Cages of trapped cultists swung from the ceiling, the chains ominously creaking as they all stared on in abject terror.

The smooth, venomous voice boomed throughout the domain, excitement dripping from every syllable, pooling at his lips as he spoke.

Huge, slitted, green eyes stared expectantly down at the small rodent below him, clutching onto the crown as if they would immediately drop dead upon releasing it.

Pity to think they could believe it would be quick.

Silence filled the room, permeating through every second without an answer.

.

.

A step backwards, a shaking head, ears pinned back. They looked terrified. Small pupils darted around, as if searching their surroundings for an answer, for any sort of rationalization for what they were about to say.

“No.” A word spoken with such finality, such resonant certainty that you would think they’d spoken that word every day of their life.

He had never heard their voice. In that moment, he wished he never had.

A smile too wide for comfort curved into a deep sneer, eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut through the most iron willed spirit.

“... what do you mean no…?” He spoke, eye twitching with suppressed rage. It wasn’t a question. They both knew it wasn’t.

They took another step back, shaking their head. “N-no…” They said, voice quieter this time.

The ichor stained face of the looming figure contorted into a look of undiluted primal fury dawned across his face.

In a quick fluid motion practiced a thousand times over, the inky black crown seemed to melt, crawling up their forearm and into their hand, forming a sharp clawed gauntlet, points so sharpened they cut through flesh like butter.

“Oh, you wanna play like that?” The sneer morphed back into the same grin he sported, even more malice seeming to practically foam at the corners of his mouth.

5 deafening snaps rang out through the domain, resounding like the resonant bang of a gong.

“Alright, Rat. Let’s play.” He practically growled through gritted teeth.

2 hooves made their place on the ground, the previously crumpled form now stood, his true size now loomed threateningly down.

They raised their gauntlet.

Something seemed to snap at that moment. The fight had begun.

He raised a hand, raising it to bring down on the vermin. In a split second dodge, they skidded out of the way, lifting the clawed hand and bringing it down into his arm. He tensed at the sudden pain that pricked into his skin.

A loud snarl sounded from the very back of his throat, spraying a bright green substance that practically bubbled with acidity.

Ratil ducked away, using the sharpened glove to dig into Solomon’s neck, hoisting themself up. He howled in pain, whipping around to crush the life out of them.

4 sharpened blades tore through his skin, ichor pouring down his shoulders as the wound opened. A hand reached up, attempting to grab the figure that jumped down, landing onto the ground and rushing the tall figure. They grabbed onto his leg, claws sunk deep into his rotting flesh.

It was a whirlwind of blood, viscera, gore and madness.

A scream of pure, unbridled anger resounded, the primal roar that could only be made by someone completely consumed by rage.

Disgusting sounds of twisting bones, muscles and tendons reorganizing and snapping into place. A brain that seemed to melt in its cradle, revealing shattered bones and a cavity filled with decay, maddened eyes, organs trailing out of his open stomach where 2 arms extended from the decomposing mass.

A white knuckled hand slammed down, then the next, then the next, a flurry of pummels rained down onto the ground, yet he was too slow.

They darted behind his arms, slashing at his exposed chest. He slapped them aside, sending them flying backwards from the force, momentarily winded. They couldn’t rest, They would catch their breath later. They jumped back up a moment before a puddle of acid found its home right where they sat a moment before.

Tangled, curled hair now matted with blood spilled down his shoulders. If you looked closely, you could see as the bugs spilled down, crawling to cover his open wound on his shoulder.

Ratil saw the exhaustion beginning to creep its way into his body, attacks becoming slower.

They grabbed a fistful of his hair, scurrying upwards to his head.

He yelled, shaking his head to dislodge them. They stayed in place, unscathed.

He stilled for a moment, intense dizziness enveloped him for a brief stint. This was their chance.

They used one claw to steady themself as they gripped onto the fur by his shoulder.

With a careful motion, they sunk the claws of the gauntlet into the front of his neck, digging in as deep as they could.

A final gurgled roar of pain sounded from his throat before he collapsed into a heap below, ichor spilling out of the body that lay still on the ground it had been forced to live on for centuries.

And, in the blink of an eye, a pile of robes took the place of the corpse, leaving nothing behind.

Ratil slid downwards, head turning to face upwards at their followers.

They won.

[blackjackkent]

The Self-Same Trial battle went quite well all things considered, although this was mostly because I'm on easy mode. By far the most unnerving thing for Rakha was not attacking the person with her own face; it was the one with Wyll's face, which went looking for her when she vanished after killing her own doppelganger and cried COME OUT, COWARD! with malice in its eyes. She has never seen such a look on Wyll's face before and she hated it beyond measure.

Wyll tries to talk to her about the whole thing afterwards and she pretty much flat-out refuses.

All in all, though, the Gauntlet is so far proving no match for their combined talents. Good, she thinks. Shadowheart cares about the trial for itself, but for Rakha's own part, it is only a means to an end, a clearing of the way that will lead to the relic protecting Ketheric.

A dramatic marble set of stairs leads downwards to the trial's next level, past another of the enormous statues of Shar. Several more of the rats are clustered around another broken statue at the stair's base. They hiss angrily at Rakha as she goes past.

"Her Most Sacred Path" reads the plaque outside of the next trial, "Faith-Leap."

This room is nearly pitch-black except for the spotlight centered on the next offering bowl. Shadowheart approaches it cautiously and - more quickly this time - cuts another few drops of blood into the basin. As she does so, several further statues begin to glow in the dimness, revealing that surrounding them is a deep abyss with no bottom in sight.

"The Dark Justiciars were said to be sure of foot in even the darkest recesses of Lady Shar's embrace," Shadowheart says, squaring her shoulders. "I must remember where to step and have faith that she will guide me."

For this trial, there is nothing Rakha can do but watch. Shadowheart studies the markings on the floor with great, intense focus; Rakha can see why - the tile-work describes a path through the dark leading to the far side of the chamber. The safe places to step... with a misstep leading to a fall into that endless abyss.

She watches and is, deep down, quietly impressed to see Shadowheart stride out into the dark without a single misstep.

(A/N: They seem to have patched out Lathander's Light rendering this trial completely trivial. :P Unfortunate.)

She disappears into the shadows which are so thick that they seem to reach out and embrace her. For a long few moments Rakha and Wyll and Lae'zel stand in utter silence and stillness, waiting, wondering if the next thing they hear will be Shadowheart crying out as she slips from the path.

But then the lights flash on, and Shadowheart reappears next to them. She looks pale and is trembling slightly - but she is clutching the last Umbral Gem in her hand, successful.

"Well done," Rakha grunts. Shadowheart doesn't answer. Something else does, though.

"You have triumphed at every turn," whispers the cool contralto voice of Shar from the statue above the offering bowl. "Seek out my inner sanctum. The final test awaits."

[evillittlebirdie]

The Lies We Want To Believe

Inspired by Daggers of the Mirror by ArtsyBecca.

Daggers of the Mirror is such a fantastic work of fiction. Please go read it. Also, we hold these truths to be self-evident. Gale is a chubby, indulgent bunny Gale is insecure about the aforementioned indulgence Gale uses a glamor spell.

There were few pleasantries in the world more pure than being in love.

At first, Gale was happy to find an educated, kindred spirit in Elisabeth. As slender and graceful as a willow, her body betrayed the amount of force Elisabeth could deliver with a single spell. He couldn't help but find Elisabeth cute when she engrossed herself in a book. Even if the book was found off a corpse or had a molded cover, Elisabeth struggled to let it go. She hoarded magical ingredients and flowers. Lavender was her favorite flower. When Gale offered to show Elisabeth his connection to the Weave, he knew he was planting a seed that could only be nurtured by Elisabeth's hand. He did not dare to think she would reciprocate. It was foolish to hope that guided him. But Elisabeth did return his interest. And even more.

Gale felt like a young man when he walked hand in hand with Elisabeth. Chaste kisses brought a blush to his cheeks every time. They made love in the Weave and physically. Elisabeth not only defended him against Mystra but empowered him. And not least of all, Tara absolutely adored Elisabeth. 

It was not all one-sided adoration. Elisabeth utilized Gale as her confidant. Gale could feel his heart skip a beat whenever Elisabeth asked for his input. 

Gale remembered entering the Gauntlet of Shar and Elisabeth suddenly freezing. She could not even talk or speak. Once Gale eliminated the possibility of enchantment or poison, Elisbath finally lifted her hand and pointed. It was the rats surrounding one of the alters to Shar. 

Later that night, Elisabeth shared with him her humble beginnings as a street urchin. She shared the days of hunger and sleeping in alleyways. She remembered waking up to vermin running through her hair and nibbling at her toes. Once Elisabeth revealed her fear of rats, she told him everything about her life. Gale held her as she shared finding a true family once she attended a school of magic; as she confessed falling in love with an older female sorcerer who let her feelings down easily; and as she revealed her hidden doubts about her leadership. 

After that long night, Gale and Elisabeth were closer than ever before.

Despite all of his misgivings and doubts, Gale admitted one last secret to Elisabeth. Gale brought her into his tent (or more aptly,  their  tent. It had been weeks since he slept alone). He twisted a plain silver ring on his right hand. He prefaced the action with an apology. Avoiding Elisabeth's confused expression, Gale pulled off his ring. Gale had utilized the glamor ring for years, especially since his age began to show. Without the glamor, his true body stood in front of Elisabeth. His hair was naturally grayer, his beard more rugged, and more noticeably, his true frame was nearly forty pounds heavier. He always had a weakness for rich food and decadent pastries. He had a penchant for snacking when he was studying. And the year he spent isolated in his tower did very little to help with keeping slim.

"I'll never take the ring off again. I just wanted you to know who you were truly with," Gale confessed, keeping his eyes away from her face. He couldn't bear to see her disgust. 

Instead of disdain or even polite rejection, Elisabeth just reached in and embraced Gale tightly. She buried her face in his chest and pleaded, "Wear it outside if it makes you feel comfortable, but please do not hide yourself from me."

Gale could have wept with joy. He had a beautiful, powerful woman who accepted him. She didn't need him to be a god. She didn't want him to hide his body. They shared the same interests, desires, and emotions. They were in love and nothing could tear them apart. 

Gale had to find a way to stabilize the Netherese orb and defeat the Absolute. Once the world breathed easy, he could begin the proper happily ever after. Wedding bells, cake, and flowers inclusive.

***

"Fantastic work today, soldier," Karlach praised, clapping her hand on Elisabeth's shoulder. 

Astarion rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, praise the woman that hid back safely on a high ledge. Not the man who saved you from some brute bashing you in the skull," he feigned dismay, shaking his head in response.

"Oh, don't worry, I have full intentions on properly recognizing your efforts, pretty boy," Karlach grinned, winking her eye at Astarion. The pale elf returned her smile with a smug smirk before the two wandered off on their own. No doubt, Astarion would be thoroughly 'appreciated' by the end of the night. 

Lae'zel silently rolled her eyes at the pair before waving Elisabeth off. "Go mount your mate as well. You deserve to revel in your victory today."

Elisabeth chuckled at her companions' antics. As much as she enjoyed her company, there was someone else she would rather spend time with. "Good night, Lae'zel," She ended. She walked over to Gale's tent, seeing the flaps closed. She smiled endearingly. Maybe Gale had taken her advice and was resting. 

Typically, Elisabeth didn't like leaving camp without Gale by her side. But Gale deserved the break. Elisabeth was going after Guild thugs. Her magic was enough to ensure solid victory. Sometimes, having more than one magic user was a hindrance rather than an advantage. 

Elisabeth approached the tent and pulled the tent flap up, "Gale, sweetheart, I'm here-" Elisabeth stopped herself. Horror paled her face at the sight of... herself .

'Elisabeth' was straddling a shirtless Gale on his bedroll. He was unglamored. His silver ring was cast aside on the ground rather than safely put up. His eyes were closed tight and he was facing away from 'Elisabeth'. The double had Gale's wrists pinned above his head with one hand. With her other hand, she had a blade to Gale's cheek. 

"What in the hells?" Elisabeth shouted before taking her staff off her back. At the sudden yell, Gale opened his eyes and turned to face the tent's entrance. In doing so, his cheek cut against the doppelganger's blade. 

"Oh, here she is. Brave, brave adventurer back to save the damsel in distress," The replica responded with a mad laugh. Elisabeth's skin crawled at hearing her voice mimicked. The doppelganger's head twisted violently. Familiar ruby-red tones and pale skin appeared. And a devious laugh left the mouth of none other than Orin the Red. She pulled the knife from Gale's skin and ran her tongue along the bloodied blade. "Such as shame...If you only gave me a few more minutes, I could have made a  proper  damsel of him..." She cackled, disappearing in a shimmer before Elisabeth could brutally hit her with her staff. 

"Fucking bitch! I'll kill her," Elisabeth shouted angrily. She tossed her staff to the ground in frustration before rushing to Gale's side. 

Gale, who had shown every vulnerability to her, was unable to meet her gaze. Elisabeth placed her finger on the cut along his cheek. "Gods, look at that nasty wound. I need to get Shadowheart." She wanted nothing more than to pull Gale to her chest and never let go. But instead, she forced herself to move away.

But Gale reached up to grab Elisabeth's wrist. "Wait...I need my ring..."

Frustrated, not with Gale but with the situation, Elisabeth tried to pull her wrist away, "I'm very sure Shadowheart isn't going to mind-"

"Not without my ring," Gale insisted, his eyes darting around the floor of the tent. 

Elisabeth's eyes fell to the ground where the ring had fallen by the table. She picked it up and handed it over to Gale. The wizard let go of Elisabeth's wrist and quickly placed his ring back on. Elisabeth didn't wait to see the transformation; she just rushed to Shadowheart's tent.

"What's all the commotion? I thought I heard battle," Lae'zel stated her greatsword at the ready despite being out of her armor. She rushed to Elisabeth's side before her gaze moved to Gale's tent.

Even Astarion and Karlach had taken notice. Their weapons were at the ready. And if the situation was less serious, Elisabeth would have pointed out Astarion's backward shirt. 

"It's Orin, it was Orin..." 

It was all a blur. Finding Shadowheart and taking her to Gale's tent. It was only a flesh wound. And with Shadowheart's immediate intervention, there would be no scarring. Gale responded negatively to Shadowheart's question about additional physical wounds. 

Gale was present, but he didn't seem quite aware. He would answer yes or no questions, but otherwise, he was silent. He sat on the bedroll and kept his eyes on his lap. Once Elisabeth discussed with the group about Orin and increased defenses, she was able to speak to Gale alone.

"Gale, what happened?" Elisabeth asked before sitting down on the bedroll next to him. Gale was propped up by several pillows, encased in blankets. By this time of night, Elisabeth would have expected him to remove his glamor ring. It stayed on. 

Gale turned to look at Elisabeth, to truly look at her. He grimaced before Elisabeth felt the gentle probing of his tadpole. He wanted to show her something. Elisabeth nodded before she allowed the connection to form. 

***

Gale wasn't necessarily 'clingy'. He just felt out of place when Elisabeth left him back at camp. But he didn't complain. He gave Elisabeth a goodbye kiss and sent her off with Astarion, Lae'zel, and Karlach at her side. 

After preparing dinner for the members at camp, Gale retired to his tent with a cup of tea, two cinnamon buns, and a book on arcane cultivation. It would be enough to keep his mind busy until Elisabeth returned. 

It was after sunset when the tent flap wavered. Gale looked up from his chair in the tent and smiled at the sight of Elisabeth ducking in. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Gale beamed, setting the book on his desk. He got out of the chair and moved in to greet his lover. 

"I could say the same thing about you. My darling little pet wizard with his treats," Elisabeth cooed, gesturing over to the plate next to his glass of wine. Only a quarter of a cinnamon roll remained.

Gale chuckled good-naturedly before taking her hands in his own. He pressed his lips against her knuckles before kissing her lips. "Idling the hours away until I could see you again, my sweet."

"You like this, don't you?" Elisabeth hummed sweetly. She took her hands from his. She turned around and loosened the flap of the tent, giving them privacy.

"I love seeing you come back alive," Gale agreed with a nod before sitting down. 

"It's more than that. You like relaxing here, studying in safety, indulging in luxury, while I fight for us..." Elisabeth temped with a sly smile on her face, moving closer to him. 

Gale flushed as Elisabeth swayed with each step. Of course, she was instigating the prerequisite to a sensual game. "Well, I cannot deny the allure." 

"No, you cannot resist can you?" Elisabeth whispered. She moved to him, setting her hands on his knees. She began to spread them and Gale felt his heart jump. "My sweet little Gale, my sweet little lapdog, ready for me after a long day of...violence..." Gale couldn't help but notice the desire in her tone regarding 'violence'. It should have caused confusion or at least hesitation. But then Elisabeth suddenly cupped Gale's manhood through his trousers. The sudden sensation provoked a jerking motion and a thorough distraction from Elisabeth's manner. 

"Ah...not quite ready yet," Elisabeth huffed, referring to Gale's softness. "No matter."

"You're eager," Gale pointed out with a chuckle. It wasn't uncommon. They had planned lovemaking ventures. But due to their lifestyle, they often engaged in frenzied trysts. "Just give me a moment, love." 

"Well, of course...After today's bloodshed, I wanted nothing more than to find release with my Gale," Elisabeth murmured before she hooked her leg around Gale's waist. She pulled herself into his lap and kissed him warmly on his lips. Gale returned the kiss, sighing as his hands traveled along her back.

"The things I want to do to you," Elisabeth purred against his lips. She ended the kiss before she removed herself from Gale's lap. She gestured over to the bedroll. "Take off your shirt. Lie down." 

Gale nodded, his cheeks flushed with anticipation. He was not sure what his love had up her sleeve, but he was eager to partake in it. He walked over to the bedroll and took off his shirt. He folded the article of clothing neatly and placed it on top of the table near the bedroll. He lay down on his back, watching with a smile on his face as Elisabeth sauntered over to him. 

Elisabeth lowered herself to his body, straddling him. What a vision. "Ah, one more thing to remove..." She hummed quietly before she took Gale's hand. Gale's heart skipped a beat but he took a deep breath. Elisabeth knew what he looked like and she loved him and accepted him for it. Elisabeth removed the silver ring from his finger before promptly tossing it to the side. 

Gale winced as the ring disappeared somewhere on the floor of the tent. "Darling-"

"Oh, oh, oh, my. To see it in this light..." Elisabeth cackled demeaningly. The sound made Gale's blood run cold. The sound was so wrong to his ears. 

"Look at you, all plump and lazy. The picture of a spoiled scholar," Elisabeth mocked, a grin forming on her face.

"Ah...love, I don't know what type of game this is, but I'm not...I'm not a fan of it," Gale mustered out, his cheeks red from embarrassment and not arousal. 

"Game? Oh, he thinks we're playing a game? Oh if it were only a game," Elisabeth giggled out, her hand moving along his soft stomach. "I'm not playing a game." She pinched the side of his stomach, making him wince and turn.

"Eldritch," Gale stated firmly, pulling from her hand. He utilized their safe word. They came up with the safe word when Elisabeth utilized her strap. They never needed to use it outside of that context. But it had to apply in this situation too. She would stop this and he could shake off the crawling anxiety. 

But instead of ending this odd game, Elisabeth only laughed again. "As though you truly have any choice, any right to say no to my observations." Her hands and fingers traveled along his body, squeezing his skin. "Weak, useless, wizard...hiding off in his tent with his nose in a book, stuffing his face with pastries."

Gale attempted to sit up, but suddenly Elisabeth grabbed his wrists. She positioned them above his head and pressed down harshly. Surprised at her strength, Gale could only try to wiggle his way out. "El...Eldritch," He repeated desperately. Even though he knew she heard him, there was a small part that knew that Elisabeth would never purposely hurt him. 

"I heard you the first time, Gale. Do hush unless you have something important to say. Maybe someone else would like to speak for once, instead of hearing your inane, self-absorbed rambling. You're almost as bad as the elf. But at least he's a sight for sore eyes," Elisabeth criticized. She sighed, using her free hand to tap her lip, "Now...where was I..."

"You were exactly the type of person I hated growing up..." Elisabeth hissed at him, her nails digging into his wrists, "Privileged, spoiled, egotistical, power-hungry. Sitting fat and happy in their warm houses while people starved and froze in the streets. Craving power with no regard for the little people trampled in their midst."

Gale searched Elisabeth's face desperately. Something had to be wrong. But this was her voice, her words. Everything he feared was coming true. She finally saw him for what he was. The visions of Elisabeth smiling at him, holding him remained out of reach. He sought to hear the sound of her crying his name in passion, the sweet 'I love yous'. 

"But...because of my own benevolence...I saw past your shortcomings. I ignored the fact that behind the glamor I was laying with a wretch. To sleep with a goddess's ex-plaything; that is quite a trophy," Elisabeth continued to degrade him, her fingers resting now in his long hair. She pulled at his gray-brown locks. She laughed as she looked him over, "Yes, you're a novelty to me, Gale. A toy for me to use until I properly grow bored of you. Do you truly think I loved you? How stupid, how gullible."

"I keep you alive and comfortable. I shield you against Mystra's wrath. I risk my life again and again and again and again..." She gripped his hair tighter. She forced his head off the pillow and hit it against the ground with each 'again'. The shock overwhelmed any physical pain from the action.

"And I come to the tent  I  procured, to find my arrogant, gluttonous sloth of a lover unable to get it up on command. Like any other man. I have been too soft on you, little wizard." 

He couldn't handle looking at her anymore. Elisabeth who was so young, beautiful, confident, and powerful...She pitied him. And now she finally had enough. Gale forced his eyes closed and turned from her burning gaze.

Even if he couldn't see her, Gale could still hear her. She mockingly laughed at him before letting go of his hair. She kept his wrists together. "Hmmm, well, let's see if we can do anything to salvage this unhappy situation." 

Suddenly, something cold, sharp, and metallic was grazing against his face. "Let's see...I wonder if I could do something about this cheek, make it nice and lean." 

"Gale, sweetheart, I'm here-What in the hells?!"

***

Both Elisabeth and Gale physically pulled back once the memory ended. Elisabeth felt sick to her stomach. Gale's insecurity, panic, and sadness nearly drowned her. She struggled to keep her composure. 

"In retrospect, I should have known something was atypical. You never come to bed without refreshing the lavender satchels," Gale commented.

"That is what led you to believe something was wrong? Not the verbal abuse? If Orin bothered to shake up the dried flowers in our tent, you wouldn't have had a second thought?" Elisabeth fired off her questions in disbelief. When Gale flinched back, Elisabeth cursed herself and her tone. "Damn it, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to...I'm sorry." She scooted closer to Gale and wrapped her arms around him. She was relieved when Gale melted in her arms. 

"I am so sorry she hurt you. She's a twisted monster and I cannot wait to kill her for what she has done to you, to us," Elisabeth told him, running her fingers through his hair. "Nothing she said about you was true. I love you. You're brilliant, selfless, gorgeous."

Gale mumbled into her chest, "You're only saying that because of what she said..."

"Fuck that," Elisabeth remarked bluntly, "I'm saying that because it's true. And I'll say it every day until the day I can't speak anymore. Then I'll write it. And if I can't move my hand anymore, then I'll tell you in the Weave. Then we'll die. And I can tell you again and again in the afterlife." 

Gale's shoulders began to move into half of a laugh, half of a sob. Taking it as an encouraging sign, Elisabeth made circles in his back with her finger. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for a very long time. So I hope you enjoyed your privacy while it lasted." 

Gale looked up at Elisabeth. His dark eyes shined with tears but there was a weak smile on his face, "I was foolish to think for a moment that she was you. I'm sorry."

"You don't get to apologize anymore," Elisabeth tutted, continuing to rub his back. "But..." She sighed, setting her head on Gale's shoulder, "There had to be a reason you were so eager to believe her. Something lingering inside of you." 

Gale opened his mouth as though to speak, only for a small whimper to leave. 

"Shhh," Elisabeth comforted him, "We can discuss this tomorrow. When you get some rest. I'm here for you. No matter what. I've chosen you. Just listen..." She eased him onto his back and lay next to him. She kissed the top of his head. 

"I love the wrinkles around your eyes, especially when you smile or laugh. The gray that peppers through your hair. The way your beard feels between my thighs. Your mind is so brilliant and intelligent. I know you only want to do better for everyone. You want to please. You're not selfish. Someone selfish would not do half of what you are doing. Your body makes me feel warm and safe. You enjoy the fine things in life. That is not a vice. I love putting my head in your lap. I can see why I will need to fight Tara over it. You have pleased me in a way that makes me forget the name of any other man or woman. Not because of what you do, but because of the love that is behind it. You make me feel like the most important person in the room."

"I love you, Gale of Waterdeep, Gale Dekarios." Elisabeth continued to stroke his back. With Gale's even, deep breathing, she thought that perhaps he had fallen asleep from exhaustion. But suddenly, Elisabeth felt something cold and metal in her hand. She looked down to see that Gale had passed his ring to her. His glamor was off. Gale curled into her, his face nuzzling into her chest. Elisabeth clasped the ring protectively in her hand before setting it under the pillow. 

"Sweet dreams..." 

[monochromatictoad]

Gabriel sucks at being a Vampire, but is a damn good weapon. (Part 2) *warnings for violence and self-harm. Oh and blood*

Ok. So in this one I wanted to talk about Gabriel's weapons and power. Now, there are multiple powers and weapons to choose from. So many, that I will definitely have to make this a multi-parter. I'll make this one about his physical abilities.

Some of these are expected from a vampire: Possession, Super Agility, Super Strength, Super Speed, and Flight/Levitation.

However, with some of these Gabriel does them, a little differently. Such as, his ability to possess people, is based around his blood. Gabriel is unique in that his blood is his main weapon. He can use it for multiple types of weapons, such as knives and his Shadow Whip, or he can use it to affect those around him, like his possession ability, or how his blood is acidic. He can also use it for his transformation abilities, like his Mist or Rat form!

Let's start with the primary weapon, The Shadow Whip. This weapon is a neutral weapon that allows you to rack up points easily and isn't resisted by any enemy! However, it is no enemies weakness either. Now, this is a whip that he can summon at will using a gauntlet made from Gabriel's own corrupted blood. Using this weapon allows Gabriel to gain Focus and receive blood orbs to power his Chaos or Void Powers. Now, this is not a perfect replica of the Combat Cross/Vampire Killer, because he cannot use it to grapple enemies or objects, or have alternative ways to kill enemies. In saying this, he apparently uses it to try and choke out Trevorcard in MoF, so maybe it just depends on his state of mind. This weapon also changes during the game, depending on Gabriel's remastering of the weapon! Starting as just strands of his blood, to a dark maroon with augmentation at level 2, to a deep, bright crimson red once becoming the mystical weapon of legends! Also, it's original name in development was 'The Blood Whip', and despite it not being called so in the final games, some people (me) and magazines will still call it Blood Whip from time to time. Also, very similarly, he has throwing knives that are also made from his own blood! These are used to aggro enemies and solve puzzles!

(Gif 1 source, Gif 2 source)

Now, I mentioned that his blood was acidic. This is a very real thing. His blood is incredibly acidic, and that's probably one of the reasons he thought Trevorcard was dead-dead. When the castle is being sieged in the intro of LoS2, Gabriel uses his blood by projectile vomiting his blood into the core of the Siege Titan, deteriorating the core and causing the Titan to fall. Now, the second time his acidic blood is a problem, is when he takes over a Golgoth Guard. His blood is too strong for the guards bodies to withstand for long periods of time.

Now his blood also allows him to change his form. Such as, his mist form. His mist form allows him to go through gates and grates, and travel in high air flow. His mist form is shared throughout the entire Castlevania series, (Alucard uses it in the SotN), so I assume this is a shared thing amongst all vampires (or at least, just Castlevania Vampires.)

(Gif Source)

Traditionally, Vampires are associated with turning into Bats, Rats, Wolves. I have also seen some sources that state that Vampires can turn into Owls, Moths, and Foxes. Now, I can't verify the last three, but Gabriel doesn't turn into any of these. In fact, in the game, he pretty much forces his own subconsciousness into a rat, and leads a plague of rats around to hide and sneak around enemies, as well as solve puzzles and find secrets. He never turns into a wolf, only Trevorcard is seen doing so. And as far as bats go, we see him control a cloud of bats, but never see him as a bat creature. These bats are used to distract enemies, and when used with the Void Powers, you can make a shield temporarily. I'll go into more details on that in the next few posts.

(Gif 1 Source, Gif 2 Source)

That's all I can fit into this part, so hopefully the third part will feature more.

[aardvark-123]

~How the Order of the Minute Reclaimed their Ancient Hold~

Many years in the future, the sundered realm of Massachusetts was beset by bandits, wolves, dangerous automata, bloodthirsty crabs and large, cantankerous Naked Mole Rats. Great warriors like the dragon-riding Brotherhood of Steel and powerful sorcerers such as the Scholomanstitute had vied for control over the region, but the common folk looked not to those mighty factions for aid. Nay, at times of need, they looked to ancient Order of the Minute.

The Order were knights, volunteer knights drawn from the brave and the good, who wore no armour save their coats and carried no weapons save their honour, their conviction, and their many, many weapons. Long had they ridden the ancient Commonwealth, yet in recent years hardship had befallen the Order of the Minute. Brought apart by internal strife and beset by countless foes, the Order looked set to fall.

At the Order's darkest hour, it was the courage and quick thinking of a stranger, Lady Minh of House Longfellow and the Vu Dynasty, that brought them back from the precipice. Though they were few in number, the Minute Knights began to rebuild, finding in Minh the Dauntless a bold new leader. Taverns and villages sang of their exploits, dozens of new hands grasped their blue banner- yet there was one quest, one painful memory, yet to be undertaken...

"Preston. Dude. My man. Lemme get this straight," Minh said heavily, not that she was. Er, straight. She may well have been heavy. "You actually want us to go and clear out a castle? This is not more fantasy roleplay &¥@£#$‽€, we're ACTUALLY getting a castle?!"

"Aye, Lady Minh. I know not the meaning behind this strange mood in which thou findst thyself, but I believe the time has come," Sir Preston said with his characteristic smile. "Long has Northstar Hold lain abandoned, likely in the hands of foul creatures, but the strength of our order is much restored. Let us retake our castle of old, and let our banner fly from the keep once again!"

Minh did not need to be told twice. She began making preparations while Preston rallied some knights, and at dawn the next day they rode for Northstar Hold, leaving Sanctuary Hills under the guardianship of their bravest warrior.

For five days the Minute Knights rode east, past the old Lexington and Cambridge, through the maze of ruins that had once crowned the Commonwealth as the shining city Boston, a column of horses and spears that grew with each settlement they passed. On the fifth morn they left the shadow of the now-vacant Saugus Ironworks behind, and lo! Upon the horizon rose the mighty grey walls of Northstar Hold.

"Hold!" Preston called. "There is a strange smell is upon the air. What do you make of it, Lady Minh?"

"I had a bath last month," Minh grumbled as the cavalry clattered and whinneyed to a halt. Nevertheless she sniffed the air, and her nose wrinkled with unhappy recognition. "%£&?@! There's Mirelurks in there!"

"Alas!" whispered Preston, once the warriors had taken shelter in the old village outside the castle. "Alas, but even sundered do her walls look proud and fair. How then can we retake her from these foul crustaceans?"

Through the cracks in the walls, there was no mistaking the round grey carapaces, lumpen yet smooth, of a dozen sleeping mudcrabs. Minh pondered the situation, her brow creased in thought.

"Mirelurks love a- What the %&£?! is a 'mudcrab'? Nope, doesn't matter," said Minh. "Mirelurks love a chase, right? So let's make them run the gauntlet! Put down some mines, hunker down in these old houses with guns and-"

She noted the blank looks on the other Minutemen and sighed heavily. "Lemme rephrase that. Lay down some 'magic runes', put some 'archers' and 'battlemages' on the walls, then we'll lure the 'mudcrabs' out a few at a time to get 'killed', then we all go back to the 'mead hall' for 'dinner'!" ranted Minh, making judicious use of air quotation marks."'Tis a good plan," Sir Sturges agreed.

"Aye, a decent plan," agreed Sir Trashcan Carla.

"Then for what dost thou wait, Lady Minh? Get luring!" Preston thoughtlessly volunteered Minh.

"W-wait, me? I didn't... I didn't volunteer to..." Minh groaned. "Urghhh, fine! Hold onto your loincloths!"

Brandishing again the Double-Barrelled Shotgun of legend, Minh charged the terrible mudcrabs. "Hey! Tall, grey and salty! Get your ugly carapaces over here!" she shouted, loosing bolts of arcane fire upon the slumbering monsters.

The mudcrabs surged forwards, their legs skittering heavily across the stone and mud, their deadly pincers raised for war. Minh backed away from the castle, and to her sides ran the Minute Knights.

"Forwards, men! Leave none alive!" Preston shouted as he beat his spear on a mudcrab's carapace.

"Strike not at their shells, my friends! Aim for the weaker flesh beneath!" Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Screenshot advised the others.

"Again with the men?! Some of us aren't!" snapped Minh, giving Preston a dirty look.

"'Tis but a figure of speech, my lady, I assure thee! Thou art as fair and womanly as a lioness, or perhaps a Challenger Two tank with painted eyelashes," Preston said apologetically. "Even blind drunk, I never could take you for a man."

The day seemed to be won. The mudcrabs who had not yet fallen were retreating into the sea, carrying their young upon their great rounded backs, while the knights rode freely into the courtyard. Yet before they could celebrate, a terrible roar sounded from behind the crumbling wall, and behind it stalked a creature most terrible.

Sir Trashcan Carla was stricken with terror. "Ai! Ai! A Mirelurk Queen of Ug-Qualtoth is come!" she shrieked. "The day is lost, my sisters. We must flee, lest her claws take us all!"

"Nay, we cannot abandon-" Sir Sturges gave her a dirty look. "Who are you calling a sister? I am not... I mean, I never thought to be anything but... A-anyway, we cannot abandon the Hold, not with hard-fought victory so close at hand! To me, Knights of the Minute, to me!"

"Don't worry, Sturges! I was saving this for a special occasion." With a wide grin to decorate her impish face, Minh pulled from its sheath a great handheld cannon, forged in a long-forgotten kingdom of days gone by. "Heads up, Mirelurk Queen! Suck my triple-barrelled missile launcher!"

Minh most assuredly did not fire the triple-barrelled missile launcher too close to a wall and blow herself to smithereens.

"Hardly smithereens... I was basically just ONE smithereen, except for the arm," Minh grumbled.

Howling like the wind before a terrible thunderstorm, the Mirelurk Queen rumbled forwards. The knights loosed their arrows and jabbed their spears into her vast belly, striking among her many arms, yet heedlessly she ploughed through them.

"Er, heads up, Mirelurk Queen!" Having established that she was standing far away from any inconvenient solid objects, Minh took aim, her arms shivering as the ancient magic coursed through her veins. "Suck my triple missile- I-I mean, suck my triple-barrelled triple launcher- No! My triple-barrelled, er, um, oh for %£@&'s sake just-!"

A bolt of searing light erupted from the head of the staff, and streaking through the air it pierced the monster's heart. For a moment she stood there, trembling and letting out a long, keening whistle which may have come from pain. And then, in a shower of foul-smelling chitin and a roaring column of flames, she exploded.

For a few seconds there was no sound save the clatter of tiny pieces of Mirelurk Queen. And then, first with laughter, then with cries of joy, the Order of the Minute shouted their triumph.

"By the gods, Lady Minh, to bring such a weapon to bear against her! Thou art a miracle most truly!" laughed Preston, slapping Minh on the back. "Ahh, this day shall surely live on the tongues of the bards for an age to come."

"Well, sure it will, buddy." Minh sighed. "Our own freakin' castle... I can't believe it! I want a portcullis. We've GOT to get a portcullis, some cannons, a tower, a video arcade..."

With the taking of Northstar Hold, a new chapter had begun in the lives of the Minute Knights and Lady Minh the Dauntless. What the future would bring them now, few could say..."