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entishramblings · 1 year ago

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The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 7 [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: hey my preciouses. so im back from my hiatus with some pain and suffering for you all. this part was very hard to write as this story is a 10th walker. lol i struggle to follow an already created plot and not get bored writing—and that’s why I gotta add some twists and funky ass kicking Rámaitë Mahtar lore heh. anywaysss...enjoy!

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word Count: 6.5k (i know I'm sorry i am a menace)

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, beard abuse (sorry gimli)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD | The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist | HERE for OC format

The fellowship and the Rámaite Mahtar spent hours upon hours enduring the biting lash of the snow's frigid touch and the piercing wail of the wind. The Pass of Caradhras fought against them, hard and strong. Relentless it was; as if the mountain itself was pained by their footsteps, doing all it could to shake them off and consign them to a frozen grave. Though they soon discovered that the mountain was not alone in pursuing their downfall.

Legolas frowned, squinting past the snowflakes that landed upon his lashes. It was hard to focus on anything but navigating through the blowing blizzard, for if he wavered his calculations, he and the fellowship would surely fall to their deaths. Yet still, something tugged at his mind, begging him to recognize its warning. The elf, determined to unravel what it was, let his senses settle into the air around him, absorbing all he could. That is when he heard it—a resonant voice murmuring curses into the wintry air.

The elven prince spun on his heel—so fast that he startled the dwarf behind him. Now facing the rest of his company, he cried out his cautionary statement. “Someone is aiding the storm. There is a fell voice upon the air.”

Gandalf met his eye, and only one word passed the wizard’s slips. “Saruman.”

(Y/N) turned to Legolas. Over the wind, she yelled her question to him. “Who is this man of saru?”

However, before any method of how he could even begin to articulate such a person even entered his mind, Aragorn and Boromir tones sprung into the air. Their voices grew insistent, advocating to return the way they came, only for Gandalf to fiercely argue against it.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) addressed again, not paying mind to the serious conversation behind her. “Who is this man of saru?”

“(Y/N),” he started. However, he was interrupted by a deep murmur that reverberated through the mountain’s core. That was the only warning the fellowship received. Seconds later, heavy clumps of snow came thundering down from the slopes above them. Legolas’ unfinished words were swept away by the mountain's rampage, lost amidst the chaotic dance of falling powder.

“Get back!” was briefly heard as Aragorn pressed his body against the side of the mountain. He attempted to take Frodo and Sam with him through a failed outreached hand grasping upon nothingness.

The Rámaite Mahtar’s eyes followed the motion, her instincts kicking in.

Her wings snapped open, tearing through the fabric and leather armor that clothed her. They extended outwards, providing a canopy over the four hobbits, just as the avalanche was to bury them.

(Y/N) grit her teeth, her form shaking slightly as the pressure hit.

Silent the hobbits were, no sound leaving their normally chatty lips, as the onslaught of snow railed upon (Y/N). Only awe was present upon their expressions as those four pairs of big, worried eyes looked up at her stern face.

The Rámaite Mahtar, however, took no notice to their concern. She held steady until no further weight was forced upon her wings.

Slowly, she lifted her head up—proud and strong—and her wings following suit. She shook them off. The snow she had caught tumbled from her feathery masses. It skipped off the edge of the mountain, leaving its longtime home.

Legolas emerged from beneath the snow rather quickly. A single glimpse of (Y/N)'s outstretched wings and the visible hobbits revealed to him what she had done. Knowing they were out of harm's way, he wasted no time in digging through the snow to unearth his other companions.

As the first hand broke the surface, Legolas seized hold of it and yanked. Spluttering, up came Aragorn. The two didn't need to speak to know what else needed to be done. They instantly began to sweep away the glistening snowflakes that continued to conceal their comrades. They hoped to retrieve them—one by one—from their frozen confinement.

(Y/N), seemingly deeming the two men competent enough to handle the task, moved closer to the hobbits. She patted Frodo’s head as she looked between the four of them. “Safe, safe, yes?”

Their responses consisted of small nods and drifting gazes, their minds still in shock.

Boromir and Gandalf soon emerged, though one member of their company was still not yet found.

“Gimli! Where is Gimli?” Legolas called out desperately.

(Y/N) furrowed her brows as her gaze scanned the snowy landscape. Meanwhile, the rest of the fellowship frantically dug, their efforts driven by urgency. (Y/N) took a few steps forward, her expression determined.

Suddenly, she began stomping in various spots on the fluffy snow bed.

Her companions, including Legolas, exchanged puzzled glances, unable to comprehend her actions. However, their confusion quickly dissipated when a muffled war cry echoed from beneath her feet. Without hesitation, (Y/N) plunged her hand deep into the snow and pulled hard. Emerging from the white depths, beard first, came Gimli, hollering and gasping for air.

Sighs of relief exited many lips before the arguing between the navigators started once again.

(Y/N) looked between them, watching, observing, trying and failing to understand the gravity of the situation. Though it seemed it wasn't really up to her to have to understand. The decision got passed down to Frodo and the small hobbit picked their dwarven friend’s option: The Mines of Moria.

Therefore, they wearily trudged down the mountain, their souls burdened and their bodies fatigued. (Y/N)'s wings guarded the hobbits, shielding them from the biting winds until they finally arrived before the sealed doors of the dwarven kingdom. And there they remained, seated in patient anticipation—for hours on end.

In the stillness, only the soft murmurs of Gandalf's whispered words and hushed conversations drifted among the fellowship, creating an atmosphere of quiet suspense.

Legolas perched beside Y/N, holding her leather armor layer in one hand and a sharp knife in the other. He was carefully carving the ripped section into a smoother line, ensuring easy exposure of her wings. Given their current lifestyle, he presumed it was crucial for her to retract and unveil her deadliest weapon effortlessly. Besides, they lacked the time and resources to stop in a town again, and even if they did, they wouldn't find suitable clothing to accommodate her unique form. The Rámaite Mahtar were not supposed to exist—not in this world at this time. She was an exception. She was a phenomenon. She was a secret—one that could get them all killed.

“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated. “Who is this man of saru?”

The elf briefly glanced up at her as he continued to work. This was the third time he was asked this question by her, and he knew she would ask it again if it was left unanswered. She was persistent like that. He cleared his throat. “Do you remember how we told you that there were some who intended to harm us and the people of this world?”

She nodded.

“Well,” he continued. “Saruman is one of them. He is aiding and orchestrating armies for Sauron.”

“Sauron?” (Y/N) questioned.

Legolas sighed, placing the leather down as he focused on (Y/N). He knew he would have to give her all his attention for this conversation. It wasn't one that you could have so casually. “Sauron is consumed by an insatiable thirst for power. He wants to enslave its people, create an empire of pain and suffering, and burn it down to ash and bone.”

“Why?” she asked, so innocently.

“(Y/N),” he stated softly, gazing into those goddamn brilliant, concerned, (e/c) eyes of hers. “Sauron…Sauron was a servant of Morgoth.”

The Rámaite Mahtar's lips parted, releasing a hushed gasp that was woven with fear and disbelief.

Legolas watched as these emotions shattered her soul and wreaked havoc in her heart. Her brows furrowed, her lips contorted, her gaze wandered, and her eyelids fluttered. Processing. That is what she was doing—absorbing the shock and dissecting its meaning.

“(Y/N),” he whispered, reaching for her hand. “(Y/N), Morgoth will not come here. He cannot come to this plane. The Valar would never permit it.”

She shook her head, pulling away from him. “Yes, he would. For me, he would. For me, they would let him.”

“(Y/N),” he said again, desperately.

She stood, shaking her head, her voice rising slightly. “You do not understand!!!”

Legolas, sensing her distress escalating, abandoned his seat and moved to stand with her. Gently, he took both her hands in his own. “(Y/N), help me understand.” He peered down into her wild eyes, searching for an answer. “Please, help me understand. I am here. I am listening.”

She glanced down at the ground below her feet, taking in a deep breath as she tried to gather herself—to regulate her emotions, Legolas perceived.

After a moment, she looked back to him. Her voice was quiet as she spoke. “I—I did things. B–before. When I was here long ago.”

The Prince nodded his head in encouragement.

She shut her eyes and withdrew her hands from his hold, letting her arms wrap around herself in what appeared to be a self-soothing state. “T–terrible things.” (Y/N) focused her gaze back onto Legolas. “They–they wanted it empty of some of the stuff they put in it.”

“What do you mean?” he inquired softly, his confusion deepening. “What did they want empty?”

(Y/N) frowned, her expression twitching as she tried to pick out the correct word to use. “The–the world.” She paused, just for a moment. “So, we emptied it. But–but we did not understand. I did not understand. There were peoples there.” As her words flowed on, she delicately extended her hand and brushed her fingertips against his ear. He fought the urge to flinch at the contact, but he did not stop her. Knowing how sincere and vulnerable she was in that moment, he wanted her to continue her truth. He didn't desire to give her any reason at all to halt her words. “Peoples like—like you, but not like you. Different.” She furthered, her hand then slid along the curve of his elvish ear until it was nothing but a ghost. (Y/N) looked down once again. “They screamed and cried, but we did not know, so we did not stop.”

“(Y/N),” he whispered, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look at him. “It was not your fault. The Valar did not teach you. They did not teach you of right and wrong.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, a tear escaping them. “It was my fault. I was the leader.”

Legolas’ thumb gently wiped away the water that ran down her cheek. “But you did not know, my starlight. You did not know.”

A quiet sob escaped her chest as she tried to look away from him. Though he would not let her. He would not let her suffer this guilt alone. Legolas pulled her form into his own. He enveloped her in his embrace, encircling his arm around her waist, while his other hand cradled the back of her head.

Instantly, she responded to this affection. Her hands—those small, deadly hands that had annihilated so many people—grasped onto his tunic, yanking at the threads. The ethereal glow of her wings enveloped him as well, as if just her arms were not enough to hug him back. And the pressure of her body against his was firm, almost urging him to anchor himself in case he lost balance. In that moment, with her face nestled against his chest, she sought solace and refuge in his embrace.

Softly, he pressed a kiss to her head as his hand moved in slow, soothing circles on her back.

Legolas knew the rest of the fellowship was trying, and failing, not to stare, but he did not care. This—this was important. This realization. This moment. This needed to happen. It represented her growth in the most pure and genuine way.

The embrace, however, was disturbed by the sound of a gentle plop that resonated in the air like a soft melody—though one very much out of place. One after another, the droplets of sound caressed their ears, intruding upon the intimate moment they shared. However, Aragorn’s chidding tone unintentionally attempted to give it back to them as he ordered Merry and Pippin to halt their actions.

Still, (Y/N) turned to look at the rippling of the water, watching as it moved with little rifts and smooth slides. The Rámaite Mahtar tilted her head, ignoring Frodo’s voice pipping up with a question regarding the door’s riddle. It wasn't directed at her anyways. She took a step closer to the water, and another, and another—until the sound of loud stone shifting claimed her and her companion’s attention.

The group gathered their belongings, (Y/N) folding in her wings and pulling the altered leather armor upon her form, before they flowed through the now opened doors. As they listened to Gimli rave of his cousins’ hospitality, they filed in. However, hospitality did not greet them. Nothing did. There were no torches. There were no cheers. There were no dwarven faces. Simply put: not a trace of life offered them a welcome and naught but dread stirred in their presence. As darkness wrapped around them, Gandalf lit his staff. That glow began to reflect light, allowing the fellowship to bear witness to the truth.

“This–this is no mine.” Boromir began, horror upon his tone. “It’s a tomb!”

Immediately, Gimli’s loud cries of despair echoed throughout the vast walls and the hobbits’ heavy breathing followed.

“We should never have come here. We must make for the Gap of Rohan!” Boromir exclaimed.

Rash shuffling from each member of the group followed as they began scrambling from the hallway of bones. Those bones, however, were immediately replaced by a new threat—one of tentacles and slime.

Before they even could escape the tomb, Frodo was clawing at the ground, his anguished cries for help piercing the air. The other hobbits urgently grasped his arms, straining with all their might to free him from the vile creature coiling around his legs. Yet his friends were only so strong. The creature drug the poor hobbit to the lake, flinging him through the air like a mere plaything.

Instantly, the fellowship, with weapons raised, were scrambling after him.

Though, the one that was the fastest was (Y/N). Her wings extended from her form, not breaking the newly crafted adjustments to her leather. With one strong push, she was in the air and weaving through the tentacles.

“By the Valar,” Aragorn whispered.

At his tone, Legolas’ gaze flickered from his aimed arrow and to his friend’s line of sight above the beast of the lake. Immediately, the elf’s lips parted in astonishment. Even after the months that they had known the Rámaite Mahtar, they had yet to see her fly. They had seen those beautiful wings act as blades, blankets, and canopies, but they hadn't seen them act for their intended purpose. They hadn't seen them serve as instruments of the wind. Legolas could not help but let his bow falter as he stared.

“She’s….she’s beautiful,” Legolas whispered.

Aragorn, his own shock subsiding, grabbed the elf’s arm and hissed a panicked order at him. “Legolas, cast aside your admiration and put an end to that vile beast!”

“Right, right,” he mumbled, drawing his arrow once again.

Aragorn ran into the water, slicing at the tentacles in desperate hope to free Frodo—and prevent his own capture.

(Y/N) maintained a relentless attack from above, using her wings as weapons to sever the slimy limbs impeding her path towards Frodo. With remarkable speed and precision, each stroke of her wings propelled her closer to the young hobbit, the distance shrinking inch by inch. However, just as she was closing in, the beast sent two tentacles her way. She spun quickly, her wings slicing them both, but it was the third to the back that she did not anticipate. It smacked against her shoulder blades, hard. Her body was launched backwards as if she was nothing but a gnat being batted away. The blow held such vigorous force that she crashed into the side of the mountain and tumbled with broken rock. Everything crumbled until she too joined the dust upon the ground.

Legolas, with fearful eyes, screamed her name. She did not answer.

The Prince continued firing arrow after arrow as he moved backwards towards the broken Rámaite Mahtar. Each forceful strike diverted the creature's attention. This distraction allowed Aragorn to slice the tentacle constricting Frodo, while Boromir swiftly caught him.

“Go, go, go!” Aragorn yelled, pushing Boromir and Frodo back onto the land. “Into the mines!”

The group darted through the entrance, Legolas scooping (Y/N) up into his arms as he did so.

The lake’s guardian tried to pursue them, its battered limbs slamming against the rugged mountain surface. However, in doing so, the squid-like creature lost its meal. In its desperate attempt to give chase, the fellowship’s fate was sealed. The attack caused the rocks to tremble and shudder. So much so, that the entrance to the passage crumbled and collapsed—entombing the alive with the dead.

Thick dust now drifted through the air, melding with the sounds of adrenalized breath and pounding hearts. They stood still as Gandalf lit his staff once more.

“We have now but one choice,” the wizard started as he began walking deeper into the mine. “We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world.”

“Mithrandir, wait.” Legolas called out, almost desperately.

All eyes shifted, only to be surprised to see the Rámaite Mahtar cradled in his arms. Before, she had appeared to be invincible. From the first day they encountered her, when she lifted the strongest member of the fellowship by the throat and nearly killed him, they had thought she was unstoppable. This belief was further reinforced as they witnessed her relentless prowess in battle. She ruthlessly obliterated a pack of orcs like it was nothing. She had annihilated them with sheer force that made even the elves look weak. A glimmer of possibility was instilled in them. Maybe their quest was not destined to fail after all? She was their hope. And now? Now that hope was a slumped, unmoving, bleeding form.

“(Y/N)?” Pippin whispered, his voice so quiet, so small.

“Is–is she alive?” Merry added, his tone mirroring his closest friend’s.

Legolas did not answer them as he gently laid her body onto the ground, kneeling next to her. With frantic lips murmuring a prayer in Sindarin, he reached to hold her face. Almost instantly, the Prince’s shaking hands were painted in her red blood. He tried to not focus on it as his nimble fingers found her carotid artery. He couldn't afford to think that she could be dead. Not now. Not ever.

The air was quiet and full of anxiety as they awaited his words—ones that would either break or heal their hearts.

“She’s alive.”

Sighs of relief left many’s lips, though Legolas did not hear one exit the wizard’s.

“I must treat her wounds.”

Gandalf huffed. “We cannot linger here.”

“Mithrandir!” Legolas called out, appalled. “She cannot be left to bleed—”

“Legolas, îdh, listo. (Legolas, calm, please.)” Aragorn stated, raising his hand. He then turned to the wizard. “Gandalf, Legolas is right. Without medical attention she could die. I understand you do not trust her yet, but she has saved our lives many times over. We need her.” He paused, nodding to the hobbits. “They need her.”

He huffed but dipped his head in agreement. He couldn't argue with that logic. “Ten minutes.”

Legolas was quick to pull his medical bag from his shoulder and began digging for supplies.

“Legolas, man tur- im ceri? (Legolas, what can I do?)” Aragorn stated as he knelt beside him.

The Prince passed him a small pouch as well as a mortar and pestle. “Mol hi into a sirith ir im heneb hen. (Grind this into a paste while I examine her.)”

Aragorn nodded, beginning the assigned task.

Legolas lifted her head, feeling the back of it, before speaking in the common tongue for the others to understand. “Swelling, but no blood from this blow. Seems it just knocked her out.” He twisted her face to see the bleeding cut above her brow. “This cut is pretty deep. I will need to stitch it so the skin mends properly.”

“Despite her ability to heal quickly? Cuts like this usually are gone within a day or so for her, correct?”

“Yes, but the flow is heavy and with the risk of infection—especially with all the grime in here…..” Legolas let his sentence trail off.

“Master elf,” Samwise interrupted softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

The Prince looked up at him. A gentle smile crossed his face for he knew of (Y/N)’s relationship with the hobbits. He knew how much she cared for them and they her. “Sam, if you could get Gandalf’s staff, maybe provide us with some better light?”

The hobbit nodded and quickly scurried off. Legolas could hear the soft conversation between the grumpy wizard and the innocent hobbit, though he was too focused on (Y/N) to pay attention. Regardless, Gandalf must have given in, for the hobbit returned seconds later with the light.

“Sam, hold it over here. I must check her wings.”

The light cascaded brightly above them, its luminosity filtering across the brilliant wings. The feathers absorbed and reflected those subtle colors, shining them back upon the three men. If the scene wasn't encased in blood and emotional turmoil, it would have been a radiant spectacle. But now, the once alluring silk-like texture bore the marks of horror—marks none would want to see freely.

“There does not appear to be any significant damage. Most of the blood is from the head wound or superficial cuts.” Legolas stated. “It looks worse than it really is.”

“But–but then why isn't she waking up?” Pippin inquired with unease.

Legolas did not answer, for he didn't have a reason to give the hobbit. Instead, he returned to the wound upon her brow. “Pass me that needle and threat.”

Soon enough, the Rámaite Mahtar’s cut was sealed and the blood upon her face was wiped clean. If they had not known of the events that had transpired, maybe she would have looked like she was sleeping peacefully. That, however, much to their dismay, was not the case.

Boromir, seeing (Y/N)'s treatment completed, spoke again. “We can take shifts carrying her.”

Legolas clenched his jaw, refusing to look at the Gondorian, as he gathered the winged warrior into his arms. “When her wings are exposed, it adds at least a hundred pounds to her weight. Without elven strength, you wouldn’t be able to carry her for long.”

Boromir scoffed lightly and sent a look at the elf.

Legolas wanted to snap back with another snarky reply, but he knew it would do no good. Hell, his previous comment was uncalled for—and he knew it. Boromir was a good, honorable man at heart. Legolas knew he would never do anything to harm (Y/N). The Gondorian respected her—as a woman, warrior, and friend. Besides, at this point, it was quite apparent that the Prince and Rámaite Mahtar’s souls were bound. So, Legolas kept his mouth shut as he pushed past Boromir and towards the front of the group.

Aragorn walked up beside the Gondorian. He gently patted the man’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. Elves tend to get quite possessive over their lovers, especially under dire circumstances.” The Ranger then chuckled. “Not one of their finer traits.”

Boromir snorted lightly in amusement, now not taking Legolas’ behavior to heart. “Indeed,” was his simple reply.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as they continued their journey along the paths of the old dwarven corridors. The fellowship found themselves halted at a crossroads, a convergence of three diverging paths, where Gandalf stood at the forefront, evaluating which direction to proceed with.

Legolas settled himself on the ground, leaning his back against the cool stone surface. Keeping (Y/N) in his lap, he gently adjusted her position, allowing her head to rest upon his chest and shoulder, her face nestled against the curve of his neck. Finding a moment of reprieve, he let out a soft sigh and pressed his head against the wall behind him, shutting his eyes. With a soothing touch, he traced gentle strokes along the Rámaite Mahtar's cheek, passing the time with rest.

It felt like only minutes, even though he knew it was hours, when Gandalf called for them to follow. Legolas begrudgingly stood with (Y/N) in his arms.

“Legolas,” Aragorn’s voice softly sounded beside him. “Let me take her.”

The elf turned to face his friend. “It’s alright. I’ve got her.”

The Ranger shook his head. “You must keep some strength if we are to make it through this mine. Exhaustion will do you no good. I will watch over her, even if it’s just for a little while.”

Legolas exhaled slowly but dipped his head in agreement. He knew Aragorn was right. As an elf, he had senses that would allow him to slay twice as many servants of darkness. If they were to come across any enemies, they would need him—especially with their strongest weapon now unconscious. Therefore, he passed (Y/N) to Aragorn.

The Ranger was careful as he took her into his arms, her wings hanging limp around him and brushing upon the dusty floor. “Valar—“ he mumbled. “You weren’t kidding about her weight.”

Legolas smirked lightly. “If she is too heavy, I can take her back.”

The Ranger grunted. “No, no. I’m fine.”

The elf raised his brows but followed the others.

Legolas kept an eye on Aragorn and (Y/N) as they moved. Though it wasn't out of distrust or jealousy, it was out of concern. He could sense, as the minutes passed and as the terrain roughened, the Ranger began to tire. However, it seemed he was not the only one who could tell.

Boromir approached Aragorn. “You look like you could use a break. I will carry her.”

Aragorn let out a low—and slightly strained—laugh. “Are you certain? Legolas wasn’t mistaken about her weight.”

The Gondorian bobbed his head. “I hardly believe she is that much to bear.”

“Suit yourself,” the Ranger replied as he passed the winged warrior to the other man.

“By the Creator….” Boromir immediately gruffed out.

Now it was Aragorn’s turn to tease. “I warned you.”

“That you did,” the Gondorian grunted. He then nodded ahead. “We don’t want to get left behind. Let’s keep moving.”

However, it wasn’t long before Boromir approached Legolas. “I won’t ever doubt the strength of you and your people again,” he expressed, accompanied by a warm smile. “Are you able to carry your girl again?”

Legolas nodded, guilt flickering in his heart for his previous rude demeanor towards the man. “Yes. Thank you, Boromir. I appreciate your help.”

The Gondorian nodded in understanding before he passed (Y/N) back towards the elf.

…..

As the days passed, (Y/N) still hadn’t woken, which proved to be worrisome. The wound upon her forehead had healed, leaving only a light scar that Legolas knew would disappear in a couple days. The swelling upon the back of her head vanished as well, providing even more confusion to her still unconscious state. She would stir here and there, but never did those curious, (e/c) eyes open. If she had survived a fall from the Valar’s incarceration, why was she remaining unconscious from a strike of the lake’s beast?

Still, they could not wait on her to wake. They had to push further. So, the fellowship continued to pass through Moria in secret, observing the dwarven wonders as they did so. However, it was ignorant to hope that that secrecy would last—and as soon as the corpse of an old dwarf tumbled down that well, they knew they were discovered.

It all happened so fast.

Legolas barely had time to place (Y/N)’s form down against Balin’s tomb before the doors were splintering, revealing orc faces dripping with evil desire.

However, at the first clank of a sword, there came at least one good act.

A large gasp, loud and alarm-filled, struck the air. The Rámaite Mahtar jolted upright. In an instant, her wings snapped back to life, shedding their previously limp state, and surged outward with lethal swiftness. As they unfurled, they decapitated three nearby orcs.

Legolas could only manage to call out her name in relief before he too was consumed by the battle.

With (Y/N) ripping the vile creatures into pieces, even faster than the elf, the fellowship had thought they had a chance. Well, that was until one sentence left the Gondorian’s lips.

“They have a fucking cave troll.”

From then on, it was a blur. Each member of the group was fighting for their lives—including the hobbits. Though all their hearts stopped when Frodo called out in pain and crumbled to the ground. Shrieks of fear left every member’s lips as Aragorn desperately rushed to his body. Those heartaching cries, however, quieted when Frodo’s small voice sang out clearly. “It’s alright. I’m not hurt.”

Then they were running again, and again, and again.

The immense chamber teemed with a horde of orcs, swarming across every surface—the ground, walls, and ceiling. So much so, that the members of the quest were encircled by them, barely having room to breathe. A sort of stalemate settled in, both sides waiting for the other to make the first move.

(Y/N)’s wings twitched as she rotated, readying herself.

Though a fight did not come—not from the thousands of revolting beings.

Badum, badum, badum.

Each member of the fellowship spun and turned at that sound.

Badum, badum, badum.

The orcs faltered and swiveled their heads.

Badum, badum, badum.

Panic then erupted. The grotesque creatures scrambled to flee. They shoved and pushed one and other as their gangly forms scurried away—back to the hellhole that they came from.

Badum, badum, badum.

“What is this new devilry?” Boromir whispered.

Badum, badum, badum.

Gandalf sucked in a deep breath. “A balrog of Morgoth.”

(Y/N)’s heart froze.

“A demon of the ancient world,” Gandalf continued. “This foe is beyond any of you. RUN!”

It was here that the fellowship mimicked the goblins—though with more care for one another. They took off down the vast hallway as they made for the Bridge of Khazad Dum. Their legs moved quicker than they ever would have thought possible—stopping only when there was a gap in a path above the fiery abyss.

Legolas was the first to leap across, his nimble form making it appear easy. Gandalf was the next to make the jump. Merry and Pippin were to follow with Boromir; however, they were halted as arrows shot at their feet—just nearly missing.

(Y/N) whipped her head around, just in time to see another projectile whizzing straight towards Boromir.

The Rámaite Mahtar was quick to lift her wing in front of him. The fine tip pierced her instantly, causing a deep grunt of pain to exit her lips. The arrow went through the feathery flesh, but halted as it got stuck in tight muscle—only inches away from Boromir’s forehead.

The Gondorian’s wide eyes shifted to her—in thanks, in shock, in guilt.

Legolas quickly turned and fired his bow, taking out the archer.

“Go!” (Y/N) shouted as she lowered her wing.

With that, Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin and leaped onto the other side. His feet landed just before the section they had previously stood on collapsed.

(Y/N) was next. She lifted her wings slightly, despite the pain, to give herself more of a drift. As she landed she shuffled close to Merry and Pippin and ripped the arrow from her wing with a groan.

As Legolas caught Sam and then Gimli—by the beard—another arrow whizzed past the hobbits’ head.

Once again, the Rámaite Mahtar shielded them—earning two more arrows in the wing.

By the time Frodo and Aragorn finagled their way across the ever growing gap, the Balrog was upon them.

The fellowship were fleeing as fast as they possibly could. A few brave souls dared to steal a glance behind, their hearts pounding in their chests. Among them was Frodo, and as his eyes locked onto the fiery menace descending upon Gandalf, a cry of terror escaped his lips. The collective gaze of the group shifted at that, now drawn to the scene unfolding before them. They then bore witness.

The wizard stood strong. His deep voice, full of power and protection, echoed through the cavern. “You cannot pass.”

The Balrog attacked. Gandalf defended.

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow!”

Once again, the Balrog attacked. Gandalf defended.

The wizard brought his sword and staff crashing down upon the bridge, a resounding boom echoing through the air. His voice then thundered, filled with unwavering determination. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" Those words seemed to reverberate through the chamber, carrying the weight of his command across the stone. In that moment, he stood as a barrier, defying the very force that sought to destroy them and their mission.

The bridge began to crumble. Piece by piece, the stone began to fall, taking the Balrog with it.

Gandalf inhaled deeply.

It was done.

The whip, however, lashed out one final time. With a swift motion, it coiled around the wizard's ankle, forcefully pulling him off his feet. In a fleeting moment, he was airborne, his body suspended before gravity claimed its prize. Gandalf’s hands flailed, desperately reaching out for anything to anchor him to the bridge's edge. His fingers found the stone and his nails dug in. Though, he knew he had no chance. He wished only to leave a message for the one who looked up to him the most.

Frodo cried out once again, lunging for his mentor and friend.

Boromir, however, wrapped a strong arm around him and held him back.

The little hobbit, sobbing, held eye contact with the wizard.

“Fly you fools,” Gandalf whispered.

Then, he too, was gone.

Frodo screamed, his cry intertwining with that of his fellow hobbits, creating a symphony of despair that echoed through the burning darkness.

However, they weren’t the only ones to have a profound reaction.

Surprisingly, (Y/N) rushed forward. She sprinted down the bridge, her legs carrying her fast, but she wasn’t fast enough. Legolas anticipated what she was going to do. He saw how her strides stretched wide and how her wings extended. She was gonna jump. Reacting swiftly, he took off after her. His paces were wider and his speed was quick. Just as she was about to push herself into the air, Legolas grabbed onto her waist and yanked her backward. The unstable bridge trembled under the sudden motion, threatening to give way, but the elf maintained his balance and steadied the winged woman in his grasp.

“LEGOLAS!” she snapped in fierce anger. Her threatening gaze—one that he had only seen directed towards enemies—poured into him, almost incinerating his soul.

“IT’S TOO LATE!” He barked back, ignoring the startlement that just flushed his veins and choosing to focus on the bridge crumbling beneath their feet. “RUN!”

With that he tugged her in the opposite direction, following the remaining members of the fellowship.

When they burst from the mines, their souls shattered like fragile glass. The hobbits collapsed upon the stony ground, their tears flowing freely, their sorrow reverberating through their chests. Agonized grimaces etched themselves onto the faces of Gimli and Boromir. Aragorn tried his best to conceal his pain, though his grey eyes betrayed him with hidden turmoil. And Legolas? He stood motionless, disbelief written across his face.

(Y/N), however, snapped him out of it. She pushed her palms against his chest, hard. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”

He twisted to look at her. “What?”

“Why did you stop me?!” The Rámaite Mahtar quipped back aggressively. She grasped onto the two arrows still embedded in her wing. She yanked them out. “I COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!”

Legolas shook his head, his tone calm and full of despair. “No, (Y/N). No, you could not.”

Her hands ran through her hair, frantically and angrily, the strands tangled and pulled on as she sought release from the overwhelming emotions rippling through her blood. A frustrated scream escaped her lips—a raw manifestation of these turbulent feelings surging. With a sudden burst, she spun back around, facing him with eyes ablaze. “I have killed one of those–those balrogs!” She took an enraged step towards him. “My legion and I bleed one dry of its fire! And you—”

Legolas interrupted her, his tone now picking up. “And I stopped you from killing yourself! You and your legion—”

“Legolas!—”

He grabbed onto her shoulders as his next words raced across the stones, silencing the area from all but tears. “YOUR LEGION ISN'T HERE!”

The wind skipped through the leaves of the trees, uneasy at the elf’s sudden tone. It blew gently upon the despairing people, begging to kiss their skin with some kind of hope, but only succeeding in tearing their hearts further. Still, it continued its melancholic dance. Seemingly carrying the weight of their shattered souls with its whispering of sorrowful melodies.

Nature itself mourned alongside (Y/N) as she stared, bewildered, at Legolas.

The Prince closed his eyes and lowered his head. He inhaled deeply, regretting his tone. After a moment, now returned to his normal steady and calm temperament, he gazed into her eyes and spoke again. “(Y/N), your legion is not here and they will remain absent. They were not present to help you defeat this Balrog and they will not come to help you fight others. They are imprisoned, beyond your reach. They won't escape as you did—not now, not after you have. The chains will have been fortified and the gates sealed with blood. You are the sole Rámaite Mahtar that will ever step on these lands.” He paused, his tone now a whisper. “You are alone.”

(Y/N)’s expression distorted. Her brows crinkled, her lips quivered, her eyes watered, and her form shook. Emotions whipped through her blood, boiling and freezing in the pain of realization and acceptance. She supposed a part of her had thought that her race would eventually return with her—join her in learning this plane. Though now that that secret hope was exposed and disproven, there was nothing else to be said. The truth stood liberated from the web of self-created falsehoods that had previously concealed it.

“(Y/N),” Legolas whispered, realizing the dream he had just shattered.

And that was all it took.

A loud sob escaped her throat and tears pooled down her face. She flung her form into his arms and cried.

She cried and she cried—as loudly as the hobbits.

And Legolas held her. He rocked her back and forth as he smoothed her hair, desperately trying to keep her safe from the pain, though he knew it was too late. He pressed a kiss to her head as he whispered into her ear. “Though you may be alone among your kind, I will forever be by your side.”

…..

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pocketfullofpearlies · 4 months ago

Text

RISE OF RED: A TALE OF HEADS AND HEARTS

(Descendants: Rise of Red Fanfiction/Re-imagining)

Chapter 1

''You know Red, this is the best idea you've had in a long time, '' Cheshire Cat said, his grin even wider than usual. ''I mean ruining your mum's portrait a night before Hearts and Heads Fest is insane. I love it!''

Red stood back, admiring her handiwork.

''I feel like it needs something, don't you?'' She asked, stroking her chin with her hand and staining it bright red.

She bent down and picked one of the guards she had shrunk.

The tiny guard kicked and yelled, brandishing his sword.

''Tsk, tsk. You'd think that after years of training and the Queen's strict regime, the Royal Guards would know not to accept a random package of shrinking cookies they receive in the middle of the night.''

The guard yelled even louder, almost loud enough to be audible.

''Then again, I shouldn't blame you; you're all half card anyway,'' she mused. ''Still, what do you think is missing? I've licked up almost all my red licking paint, but I have an array of ostrich feathers and peacock glitter left.''

The guard wriggled out of her hold and poked her with his tiny sword.

Red gasped. ''I've got it!''

She dug in her bag, feeling past the family of rabbits and the pot roast in there for a pack of playing cards.

''I never leave home without them,'' she said proudly, flipping them in and around her hands.

The queen cards separated themselves from the rest and Red blew them onto the portrait.

Then she dipped her brush back into the licking paint and spread a slash of colour all over the cards, giving them all funky hairdos and moustaches.

''Purrrrfection, wouldn't you say, Chesh?''

''Um, Red, how strong were those shrinking cookies you gave the guards?''

Red looked around at the guards at her feet who were gradually increasing in size and groaned.

''Gotta bounce, guys,'' she said, taking out her pogo as she stuffed all her supplies back into her bag.

She balanced on the device and it started bouncing automatically, taking her away from the Royal Courtyard and Into the castle.

''Told you not to use those WonderTube tutorials,'' Cheshire tutted.

''Oh hush you,'' Red said, getting off the pogo.

''As you wish, your Redness,'' he replied, grinning as he faded away.

Red folded up the pogo and licked the remaining licking paint off of her hands.

She had landed in the H wing of the castle, but her room was all the way in the R wing.

''Might as well make a stop in the kitchen,'' she said to herself.

She started skipping along, and had made it all the way to the A wing when the Queen Alert on her skirt went off and lights suddenly turned on.

''Uh oh...''

''Redwina Scarlet Heartlynn Vermilion Rouge-Redding!''

Of course she's up working right now!

Red shook out her hair and tied her bag around her waist to form another skirt.

''Mum! You're still up.''

The Queen of Hearts looked down from her work throne at her daughter suspiciously.

She was dressed in a light red sleeping gown, her long red locks wrapped around red curlers and what could either be a strawberry or blood mask smeared on her face.

''Now just where are you coming from looking like what a Jabberwocky wouldn't want for dinner?'' she asked, her voice clipping through the air and snipping at Red's confidence.

''I was talking a walk in the rose garden, Mum.''

''Past the curfew? The general curfew I placed on everyone? Including those guards I'm going to behead for letting you go out?''

''Great! More people you're going to behead tomorrow; how fun.''

''Considering you're going to be conducting some of those beheadings, you should think it's fun.''

''Awesome!'' Red said, attempting to sound excited. ''Is that why you're still up?''

''Yes, if you must know. Tomorrow has to be perfect.''

''Right, right, yeah. But, uh, mum I was thinking-''

''-Well that's a ticket to ruin-,'' The Queen mumbled

''-What if we don't make Hearts and Heads Fest about general, widespread decapitations and turn it into more of a celebration?''

The Queen stiffened and glared at Red.

''O-or not? Forget it. I don't know what I was saying.''

Red shifted uncomfortably as her mother went back to work.

''I'm gonna head up to my room now. Goodnight.''

The Queen gave a very posh grunt and waved her off without a second glance.

Red sped off to her room and slammed the door behind her in relief.

With a sigh, she plopped on her bed.

Cheshire appeared as she lay down, an even more mischievous grin on his face.

''You could've at least told me she was up, Chesh,'' Red told him.

''I could've, but I chose not to. It's more fun that way. ''

Suddenly, Red's speaking mirror started beeping.

''Oohhh...lover boy's calling,'' Cheshire teased before disappearing again

Red rolled her eyes, then got up to sit at her vanity table, tapping the mirror three times.

On the third tap, her reflection dissolved, revealing the person who had beeped her in the first place.

''Hey,Maddox!''

''Don't 'hey, Maddox' me, Princess,'' Maddox Hatter said, giving Red a stern look. ''I know what you did.''

He took of his hat, briefly exposing his silky white curls, and pulled out a piping hot kettle.

Bringing out an elegant, hand painted teacup, he poured the hot, purplish liquid into it.

''Where's the mouse?'' Red asked as he stirred his tea.

''Asleep. Like you should've been instead of turning your mother's portrait into your personal sketchpad.''

Red groaned. ''Come on, Maddox. I play pranks like this all the time.''

''I know, but tomorrow's super important. It's not the kind of day to risk upsetting the Queen.''

Maddox sipped his tea and observed Red's forlorn expression.

''Look, Red,'' he said gently. ''I know tomorrow is going to be hard, but-''

''-Hard?'' Red interjected. ''Hard? Mads, your dad's tests and homework assignments are hard; trying to find an unpainted white rose in mother's garden is hard. But tomorrow I'm going to have to order someone's death! I can't do that!''

Tears filled her eyes and began rolling down her cheeks softly.

Red wiped them away, licking her fingers.

Wonderlanders' tears tasted like sugar, and on the rare occasion Red shed any, she made sure to take advantage of it.

Maddox sighed, setting down his teacup. ''I'm sorry, Princess. I wish there was something I could do.''

A lightbulb went off in Red's head, and she snatched the corresponding one floating mid-air and threw it away.

''Maybe there is,'' she said, her eyes shining with uncried tears and mischief.

''Oh no. You have your trouble face on.''

''What if you bring me that time machine thingy you've been working on. You said it's ready, right?''

''Not possible, Princess.''

Red pouted. ''Why not?''

''Well,my dad would disown me and I'd have to join The White Rabbit Gang. And, oh let's see; you could alter time as we know it putting us all in grave, grave, very grave, extremely grave -did I mention grave?- danger!'' he said, mouthing an extra 'grave' at the end.

''Okay, okay, I get it,'' Red relented, rolling her eyes. ''I'm just fed up with this. I wish I could go back and stop this stupid festival from ever existing. And I really, really wish I could leave Wonderland and see more of the world.''

''Don't worry, Princess. In time, at least one of those wishes will come true.''

''Yeah, sure.''

Red yawned and rubbed at her eyes.

''Being a vandal sure is exhausting,'' she mumbled.

Maddox laughed at how cute she looked, only for his laughter to turn into a yawn as well.

''I'm gonna turn in now, Princess. Goodnight.''

''Nighty night, Mads,'' Red said tiredly, tapping the mirror thrice to end their call.

After washing her face of paint and tears, she slipped into a pair of heart patterned pyjamas and hopped under the covers.

''Off with the lights,'' she said, making the lights turn off automatically.

She turned and twisted for minutes before falling into a tumultuous sleep, her mind fixed on nothing but the thought that by this time tomorrow, she'd have blood on her hands.

Chapter 2:

https://www.tumblr.com/pocketfullofpearlies/757338583424172032/rise-of-red-a-tale-of-heads-and-hearts?source=share

#disney descendants #fanfiction #fanfic #descendants #rise of red #descendants: the rise of red #popular #trending #movies #disney plus #disney princess #ever after high #queen of hearts #descendants 4 #disney's descendants #princess red #alice in wonderland #mad hatter #looking glass

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madameaug · 1 year ago

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Jungkook's Random Morning w/ Peanut

Pairing: Jungkook + Peanut

AN: Italics represent Jungkook speaking in Korean :)

Fatherhood surprisingly reversed Jungkook's late-night habits. His career as a boxer undoubtedly helped, but fatherhood would be why he states if asked. Peanut can get quite gasy, leading to her be fusy. Jungkook would hear her congested whines and walk across the hallway to her room.

"Bicycle kicks." In a back-and-forth motion, Jungkook moves Peanut's chunky legs. She let out tiny grunts before releasing a powerful funky fart.

"P.U Peanut." Jungkook fanned his nose. Peanut let out a sigh of release. Now that Peanut was in that stage of tummy time, Jungkook would lay a soft blanket on the carpet. Place Peanut on her stomach and do a couple of simple mobility stretches. He had to stay as loose and limber as possible. He was doing mock punches in the air, staying light on his feet. He was far enough to ensure he didn't accidentally step on little Peanut. Oh, his heart would be crushed, and Jennette would actually murder him.

Once his heart rate was elevated, Jungkook noticed Peanut turning her head. There was a slight shake in her neck, but for the most part, she had it down-packed. Peanut was such an easygoing baby.

Getting down on his stomach, Jungkook was face to face with Peanut. Her glossy, dark brown eyes were concentrated on his face. As if her little eyes were trying to take mental pictures of his face.

Jungkook was falling in love within seconds. Jungkook was a firm believer in the multiple loves a person can experience. It is platonic, one that he shared with his friends from Korea. The six older guys truly took Jungkook under their wing. Namjoon, Seokin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung were like brothers to him. Big brothers who were amazing uncles to his Peanut.

Romantic love is next, the one that he's experiencing with Jennette. He had an average dating life, a couple of girlfriends after high school, and a few series ones when he was a novice boxer. Yet none of them stuck around or even evolved past physical attraction. Jennette was truly a friend in the beginning of their relationship. A social worker and boxer, a weird combination that no one initially thought would sprout onto something further. She loved him as much as she pretended to downplay it. She loved him, and Jungkook could shout from the rooftops how much he returned those feelings. He was going to marry Jennette one day, one day soon.

And finally was paternal love. He was basking in the one every day since Peanut took her first breath. Every spit-up, changing of shitty diapers and foul-odored farts rarely phased him. Jungkook embraced every moment of this stage in Peanut's life. This brief time Peanut is totally dependent on him. During this brief time Peanut's only method of communication is a whine, cry, or smile. These were the moments that would become invaluable.

"I love you Peanut"

In slow motion, Peanut started to lean over. The unequal weight distribution caused her to rock slightly. With his natural dad instincts, Jungkook used one hand to catch the side of her face before she tilted over. Jungkook's thumb rubbed over her cheek.

He kept repeating his love for Peanut.

"I love you Peanut"

#jungkook x jennette #bts x black reader #bts #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #black oc #jungkook imagines #black writers #black reader #jungkook x black oc #black fem oc #madameaug

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lets-try-some-writing · 2 years ago

Note

Funky hcs, cybertronians purring when content or happy, or making small chirps to eachother when too lazy to use words (cliffjumper would do this)

Smoll sparkling instinctually climb on their parents backs like possums do, so imagine starscream with the jettwins clenched on his back sleeping while he's working.

Dreadwing easily get flustered if someone flirts with him.

Starscream thinks dreadwing is attractive, but would never say it even if you torture him lol

Prime finial move like cat ears

Soundwave probably has stray cats in his quarters

When it becomes too cold, cybertronians curl around eachother for warmth.

Sparklings have 4 stages in early years before becoming a youngling, bean, too smoll to move, only chirp and sleep and eat, waddly stage, they're still pudgy but they're grown a bit, their optics open and they waddle to get to places, serval kitten, lanky limbs and unproportioned body structure, zoomes everywhere, uncoordinated as all hell, loud, and finally semi youngling, or a nibbling, where they start to walk on two legs intsead of four limbs, this is the stage were they become more talkative and have longer conversations.

Well since this isn't super specific, here are some additional headcanons of mine to go with this.

In relation to sparklings:

Newforged sparklings are practically animals. The youngest can hardly move most times, but frag it all when they really put their spark to it they can be terrifying and bolt on all fours.

Sparklings, when without a caretaker, travel in small packs. The youngest will magnetize themselves to the oldest and they roam wild until they develop higher processing abilities or are adopted.

Newforged sparklings have denta sharp enough to rival a scraplet and can and will bite when approached.

Sparklings have a natural desire to seek out civilization through special code and find said civilization via a special set of sensors that allow them to detect spark signature density.

They lose these sensors as they age, often signifying the activation their higher cognitive functions. However if left stranded once these sensors are lost, the sparkling in question will turn out to be more wild in response to lack of exposure to other mecha.

Sparklings have zero preferences when it comes to fuel and will devour anything with even a hint of energon in it. This includes but is not limited to dirt, bugs, small-mechanimals, any energon powered tools, and even energon crystals five times their size.

Sparklings can unhinge their jaws slightly to devour larger energon portions. This can lead them to get things stuck halfway down their intake after a failed attempt to eat it.

Sparklings choose their own caretakers when left to their own devices. These chosen caretakers often end up doing better in raising their charges than those not selected personally, but this is not always the case.

It is incredibly rare for two sparklings to choose the same caretaker and get along because most refuse to tolerate a sibling who is in their minds, competition for scarce resources.

Sparklings are slow to bond to their caretaker but surprisingly possessive even before a bond is established.

Sparklings are known to fight over potential caretakers when there are not enough or two or more take an interest in the same one.

Once bonded to their caretaker, sparklings will make their claim clear to any others they see, often hissing, chirping, or otherwise making a racket to prove that the mech they chose is theirs.

Grounder sparklings will magnetize themselves to their caretaker's back so they can still see what is going on, fliers will hang off the shoulder, minicons prefer hiding in their caretaker when possible, and triplechangers/beastformers are more fond of hanging onto an arm or leg.

Sparklings shed armor as they grow and develop new plating as they age. They start off fairly smooth and round but gain more sharp edges and defining features with time. Wings and other such kibble grow in right before younglinghood.

In relation to Cybertronian Habits:

Cybertronians are not a very touchy race. They do not physically touch one another often because they have EM fields to make up for body language.

Touching is considered a very intimate thing when not in a professional setting. It is only done between those who trust one another or are familiar enough to be somewhat at ease.

Shoulder touches and small lingering interactions of similar variety are common among co-workers and friends.

Clasping arms or being particularly close is something found only among close friends, Amica bonded, or political allies.

Full blown hugs are something meant for family and family alone. It is a rare gift.

Touching helms is considered the highest form of intimacy and is reserved solely for Conjunx Endura or caretaker's and their sparklings. There are rare cases where it is seen between abused mecha bound together by trauma, but beyond that it is a sacred thing.

Caste, or rank determines how much a mech is allowed to express themselves.

Low caste mecha are expected to keep their helms low and be quiet, but are otherwise not forbidden from being more touchy and interactive.

Middle caste mecha are required to be chaste in all sorts of interaction. Their EM fields must be held close and their outward expression must be carefully controlled. Intimacy of any kind in public is frowned upon.

High caste mecha, depending on function are either required to show nothing or allows to express themselves however they see fit.

This bleeds into behavior in both Autobots and Decpeticons due to how deeply these stigmas were rooted.

When startled Cybertronians flare their plating to look bigger.

Most Cybertronians have built in tracking systems and will automatically track small lights like laser pointers when unfocused. This behavior has been largely trained out of the bots involved in the war, but it can still be seen when the bots are tired.

Even Optimus Prime can end up whipping around to track a small light when exhausted before he refocuses.

Cybertronians naturally do not speak but rather sing to communicate. Spoken language was introduced by the Quintessons but has since only been used in formal situations to show attention and understanding.

Cybertronians don't really get cold. Their sparks keep their internals somewhat warm, but when they do end up reaching an environment so cold it can reach their cores, they group together and connect via special cables to share heat.

When too hot, Cybertronians can shed their outer layers of armor. More often than not they simply flare their plating and work their fans to cool down since it can take weeks if not months for shed plating to regro.

It is also healthy and normal for a Cybertronian to shed their plating after a few centuries of wear and tear so that fresh plating may grow in its place.

Shed plating is often eaten by the Cybertronian who lost it as a way to conserve resources.

There are even special recipes designed to make eating shed plating more palatable.

Cybertronians all have mandibles in their intakes which they use to process energon. They can extend their mandibles and the tubing attached to it if required, but it is uncomfortable for those no longer sparklings.

Mecha left alone in groups will form clans on instinct. The biggest among them automatically ends up activating more protective codes while the smaller become more sensitive to changes in the area.

After the Quintessons invasion, all Cybertronians forged from the Well are coded with an instinctual hatred toward the invaders and are all modeled to be best able to resist the invaders should they come again.

Random tidbits:

Optimus had sensory panels when he was still wild, ones that flared out from the sides of his helm much like insect antennae. They were far more sensitive then and have since been armored and largely hidden. He still brings them out on occasion though just so that he doesn't forget how to use them.

Arcee originally had a bright pink and white paintjob. She only changed it after the war began to inspire fear in her foes. She actually misses her old paint dearly but it too involved in her persona to drop it now.

Being from the early ages of Cybertron's history, Ratchet has a few modifications that no modern mecha possess. One such mod is his innate ability to operate with less energon. His frame was designed to retain energon and use it more efficiently, therefore making it less common for him to fuel as often as the others.

Bulkhead actually wanted to be an architect before the war but was denied entry into school because of his frame type and instead joined the wreckers after being rejected. In his free time he still comes up with building plans sometimes.

Bumblebee was known to have one of the most beautiful voices among Autobot troops before he was made mute. He could reach pitches that no others could and was even able to perform feats of song known to only be possible to those with mods or highly sensitive vocalizers. Losing his voice didn't hurt most because he couldn't speak, no, it hurt more because he could no longer sing.

Ultra Magnus received a frame upgrade sometime in his past that was highly experimental at the time. It made him larger, sturdier, and overall a force to be reckoned with. However he gets pains and phantom aches where old kibble used to be due to the relative newness of his mods at the time.

Wheeljack almost invented space bridges by accident before they were conceived by council scientists. He was trying to make a bomb that would tap into the void to create a mini black hole and instead made a small portal. He brushed it off as failed experiment at the time and didn't learn till long after that he had concocted space bridges before they were even a thing and didn't even know it.

Megatron has not shed his plating in over two millennia and continues to refuse to do so for various reasons he will not state despite the fact that his armor is old and getting rather frail at the base. He works around this by strengthening his armor with special salves and injections so that he need not shed it.

Starscream once had a far more appealing frame that he ended up getting changed during the war after receiving an injury that nearly shredded his entire outer armor. He never had much of an opportunity to change it back to how it was after that, but he does dearly miss his previous appearance even if he never says so.

Soundwave was once a very bulky mech and only slimmed down after he left the senate to try and emulate spark eaters in a rather quiet act of defiance toward his previous companions. He much prefers being seen as similar to the monsters of old instead of as an intimidating but ultimately fallible mech.

Shockwave sometimes has moments where the shadow play wears off long enough for his previous personality to make an appearance. It is very rare, but when it happens he is often kept locked away so he can't go running to Optimus who was once a friend back when he was Orion Pax.

Knockout used to be a flight frame and only lost his wings due to an accident. He pioneered the way to changing his alt-mode to fit in, but he still misses the skies and sometimes likes to stand on tall structures to feel the wind. He even likes to skydive if he is sure there is a landing place for him or some sort of security to keep him from falling to his death.

Breakdown actually once wished to work in sparkling care but was denied because of his alt-mode and frame type. The skills he picked up and the knowledge of sparklings he accumulated has largely found use with the Vehicons due to their relative youth. He tends to baby the Vehicons when he can and they appreciate it.

Dreadwing once had a duel to the death with a noble back when he was very young. He won, but got a nasty scar across his chassis in the process, one that never fully recovered and has since been covered. Skyquake got an engraving in the same place to match the scar so Dreadwing didn't feel so alone.

Arachnid almost joined Sentinel's science division as a researcher and only left at the last moment because of the threat of being shadow played.

The Vehicons play dead when it battle against Optimus. They have long learned that if they stay down after being hit Optimus won't kill them and they won't be punished since they were "hurt".

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #team prime #decepticons #headcanons #cybertronian culture #world building #I haven't done a post in this style in a while #bit of a callback #welp I hope these made sense #my tired brain has many good ideas but they don't get written very well

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mantisgodsart · 5 months ago

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First batch of @bug-oc bugs. This would've gotten finished sooner, but we've been sick as a dog for most of the tournament's runtime, so we're calling it a victory that we managed to get anything done - there are a lot fewer contestants this year, which means both less art to do and more ability to commit to trying to make some particularly unique creature designs - there are some in this batch that we REALLY want to do justice, and that is... unfortunately hard to do when we're barely functioning for two hours a day. This is our unofficial call to STAY HOME when you're sick! Even if you're feeling sturdy enough to go out and about, your actions can impact those around you very easily.

Design notes and owners below the cut with individual pictures - the middle one here is a beta design that we're still in the process of ironing out, so that one just has

[This is the first time I've met someone who "worked in Snakemouth" since that one... weird encounter, with those roaches giving me a job offer. I didn't know that they had a security guard position. I... didn't know that they knew what a security guard even is, honestly. To have two bugs involved with the lab turn up is an incredible coincidence. I wonder if the time portal is actually open again, or if different universes just work on different timeframes?

Regardless, it's a good opportunity to advance my knowledge of partial transmutation and multi-organism transmutation. Whatever happened to that moth in the last tournament... my understanding of how to handle both symbiotes and parasitism is clearly incomplete, if running into multiple organisms can cause problems like that. I'll have to put some extra work into monitoring...]

Omelette from @tangleslime2 was one that felt... obvious, we suppose?Your work will one day consume you, and such - one way or another! More literal in this case. A lot of the work here, honestly, is toying with shapes and body language. Omelette has a LOVELY sillhouette with some extremely identifiable clothes, and translating it to a zombee design was Very fun. Maybe a bit plain on the design side, but the linework was incredibly fun to do - we got to do a whole lot of fur, which is always a fun time. This design was very quick and easy, as designs go, and we had a lot of fun doing the hat. Wildly askew, and held on by but a single antennae!

Sundew and Nerine from @mizzle-moths are untransmuted, as requested - Sundew's pose was very fun to do - nice and fluid, though the wing markings were admittedly a bit funky to parse. We hope we got all the details correct here! Both of your bugs have gorgeous color palettes. Our usual marker set's dark gray marker's dried out by now, so we had to use an alternative, which... unfortunately bled clean through our sketchbook page. Lesson learned, we suppose. The scribble over the eyes used the same pen that we did our linework with - the "scribbling over the eyes of a dead character" trope is very well-worn, but cliche only becomes cliche because it inspires enough people to follow in the footsteps of a story, and we're very fond of the way it adds to the... hmm, visual language? We just think it's neat. Hope you enjoy!

[...working with spirits and more immaterial forms isn't my area of expertise, but it's something i dearly need experience in. My hope is that by advancing my knowledge in this field, I might be able to apply the knowledge to other fields that evade me - anything inanimate has proven to be my bane, and I'm fairly certain that a few of my attempts into this area have produced "hauntings", when they're not producing incredibly specialized organisms. Maybe if I know how to cause a haunting, I can figure out how to not cause one...?]

Moving on to our beta design - that is a VERY rough draft of Beera from @longeth-dayv. Given by the obvious Luigi's Mansion inspiration, we wanted to run with it by pulling our inspiration more directly from a Luigi's Mansion enemy - mostly, this meant tinkering with sillhouettes while trying to figure out what sort of design would match best to the character, and how to translate a design to something recognizable.

The pack, despite its significance character-wise, doesn't have quite as much weight in the balance of the design, which meant more tweaking for the transformation - though we briefly tried toying with the pack itself for this design, that particular page we felt would skew a bit too close to body horror for your personal comfort, so we scrapped the idea. Better safe than sorry, as they say. As such, we're aiming more towards using wire and body language to drive recognition.

The image here is a loose draft based on the bats enemy, used to test the fade and layering of the highlighter we were using - as it turns out, it doesn't layer very well! We started out looking for electric enemies, but we only really turned up the Electric Oozer, and that... was a bit too close to "normal boo" for our personal tastes, so we swapped to just primarily yellow enemies. Though we were previously considering taking the bat design to final draft, actually putting it out on paper convinced us to the contrary, so we went back to the... sketchboard. We'd bet there's a good chance you can already figure out where we're going with this one. A fun design challenge, for sure!

Finally (at least for this particular evening), we offer you this: a look behind the scenes, (or at least, the scenes that don't involve "us being sick and struggling to communicate whether or not something is sorted with the other mod"). What we've been using to keep track of matches, as well as to draw lots. Not precisely a high-tech solution, but damn if it doesn't work - the ends here are split into two for the sake of a loser's bracket, which we... thought we had figured out, but then it turned out we've been having miscommunications on what the bracket setups even are, and, well...

...we're working on it, we'll say. It might still be integrated, but that'll have to wait 'til trying to do things doesn't require fighting for our life. We will probably rerandomize the brackets for it, we might use it for illustration practice if the contestants are cool with it, so on and so forth. As always, thank you for your patience - we hope that Round 2 encounters slightly less hitchups compared to Round 1.

#our art #bug fables #finished #ocs #other peoples ocs #omelette #beera #sundew #nerine

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fallentheatre · 4 months ago

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Time... to be a little insane <3

I entirely blame @hoverboards-and-dragons for all of this. They introduced me to the God and Archangels concept brainrot and then the Roo brainrot. And this should help explain any drawings we do with these funky designs too.

First, lets meet the cultivator of creation himself, Ady (Adonai)! (AKA the 'God' figure)

He's a gigantic plant entity that can re-arrange his floral body in ways of slightly less concerning body horror. One moment he has paws, the next, all the roots in his legs mangle and reform into claws. The yellow cloak of leaf-fur can expand into wings, but he doesn't use those all that often. He's large, a big beast. Just a massive mass of plant deity that is incredibly soft to touch.

Creation is his garden and he intends to remove it of all parasites through any means necessary.

He also will photosynthesize in the sun. He's not mediating. He's eating. Let him eat in peace.

Meanwhile... we have the parasite he's been trying to rid creation of from day one.

Roo! The 'root of evil' in Ady's creation garden (Their garden)

Where Ady is gentle fun leaf-based body horror, Roo is straight flesh and gore. A parasitic mole in the eyes of Ady and by extension his creations, Roo is something that needs to be exterminated, though none have the power to do so. She's got plant-like elements to her, something that insults Ady personally, due to her 'lure' human-like form sprouting out of the mouth like a flower.

Oh yeah, it's a lure. What easier way to draw prey into the jaws of death than to look like a struggling victim in a sinkhole? It also makes Ady feel uncomfortable beyond belief after the lure becomes more human-esque to specifically and personally drive Ady insane. They're awful to each other. Complete enemies who drove each other to become who they are today. If they aren't ripping one another's throats out, they're being the pettiest people alive.

Roo is a lot more chill compared to Ady. She kinda just does her thing, as she too is fundamental in creation. Roo and Ady spawned together in the abyss and expanded it to become more. No matter how vile her action or how Ady ensures all know her as evil and rot, Roo is vital to creation. They even created their first living organism together in collaboration. That is when it turned for the worst, as their morals clashed until they started to flash their teeth and unsheathe their claws in battle. Ady is generally well put-together, despite being a complete goofball on the outside. But when Roo is around? All his whimsy is gone. There is only mutual hatred and violence.

They're both big beasts, and the full body of Roo is yet to be determined. They're so fascinating because everything would be going so well if they just. Didn't resort to violence and aggression when things dont go their way. They're the only ones who can truly pose a physical threat to one another, and therefore are the only ones they lose their own composure's around.

Still working on the finer details, as these are just concepts at this stage, but I love them dearly. They're awful I hope they maul each other so thoroughly that they cannot tell each other apart in the carnage they make.

Roo kind of became just the blame for everything. Yeah she takes full credit for the things she did do-- she doesn't regret anything. But Ady sees her as the core source of evil, when all he wants to do is spread and nurture good. Roo has accepted the role of evil, not really caring for nor needing a definition for what she does, and Ady kind of forces everyone to see her as nothing but evil. Good and Evil just happen, but both have strange relationships with the ideas. I'm still figuring it out but like. Everything is a grey area can you two stop and accept that please! No? Well. Just keep arguing then I guess.

But yeah she's sick of Ady's shit as much as Ady is beyond frustrated and furious at her.

I also did her demon disguise / form! I don't know how to describe clothing or anything but I really like her. And the downward markings on her stomach is her body showing. It's like a slightly soft exoskeleton? I don't know how to explain pffff.

I then decided to also go ahead and do a human version of Ady. Comedy gold I tell you. Both of these guys make me very happy <3

And as a treat, I also did rough ideas for how Lucifer and Micheal look!

And before anyone says anything, no, those aren't top surgery scars. They are natural markings. Since Lucifer is the morningstar, rising before the sun, it's supposed to make the star on his chest look like it is rising, where Micheal, the eveningstar, is supposed to be setting! (I'd say falling, but that feels... disrespectful lmao)

They also get the leaf-fur elements and some more nature theming due to my idea really focusing on the garden aspect (because it is so fun and i love plant / bug / animal designs so much). Also tried to make Lucifer look more snake-like where Micheal really seems to be heavy on the bird elements (did I hear birds hunting snakes? No? well... what a very funny thing to hear from the wind ehe)

Uhhh yeah. First time trying to ramble out a few of the concepts I have. No idea if I explained anything well but hey! What are rough first drafts if not scribbles on a page?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin god #hazbin roo #hazbin lucifer #hazbin micheal #hazbin AU concepts #notos's AU concept sketches #i had fun with these and tried to put things into words i really do hope it worked <3 #first time sharing this stuff because why not. it's fun.#oh and the fact that these two will likely be seen in sketch interactions between mine and arrow's versions of the characters #fun all around <3333

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specialagentlokitty · 2 years ago

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Saul Silva x Teen!reader - a better life

Hi, do you think you can write a part five of a better life? 😊 - Anon💜

Part five:

You had been slowly adjusting to life at Alfea, but you still refused to talk or interact with any other students, you didn’t want anything to do with them.

You stuck to your dorm, sometimes you would leave with Farah or Silva, but that was it.

Sitting in Farah’s office, you looked at the book in your hands and held it out to her.

“You finished it?” She smiled.

“Yeah, it was good.”

Farah smiled and took the book, setting it on her desk.

“You’re getting better, are you still struggling?”

You slowly nodded your head.

“Maybe I’m just not supposed to read.”

“You have dyslexia, there’s nothing wrong with that. You’ll get there.”

You frowned a little bit.

“What if I don’t..?”

The door was opened and closed and you looked up.

“Then that’s okay, you don’t have to be an expert. I struggle to read sometimes.”

“That’s because you’re old. You’re an old man your eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

Silva rolled his eyes at you and sat next to you.

“Ouch, words can hurt you know. That’s mean.”

“It’s true, and you were supposed to have lunch with me.”

He raised a bag in his hand.

“That’s why I’m here, you ready to go?”

Silva took you to different parts of the school every now and then for lunch, as a way to get you outside and used to the school grounds.

Today he took you by the river and you looked at the water.

“Can you swim?”

You looked at him and shook your head.

“No.”

Silva smiled and set a blanket on the ground, and pulled out some food and towels and set them aside.

You started eating, telling him about the book you had finished reading.

Silva happily sat there and listened to you, eating his own lunch while you talked but you soon got distracted.

You stopped eating and turned to the river again and watched a couple of ducks swim across.

“I think being a duck would be cool.”

Silva chocked on his drink and laughed.

“Why’s that (Y/N)?” He asked.

You pointed to them.

“Look at those funky little birds, just living their lives floating all day. They’re like little boats with wings!”

“Little.. little boats with wings?”

Silva couldn’t help but laugh again as you started to go in depth about how ducks were just little boats with wings.

You had come out with some strange things over time, and he was always shocked and entertained when you came out with something new.

Getting up, you wondered into some tall grass and started looking around in it before you dropped to the ground.

You waved your hand through the dirt and pulled out what you had found and came back to sit back down.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“A stone.”

You showed it to him.

“Here, you can have it, I’ll find another one.”

Handing Silva the stone you wondered away and he smiled, looking at the little stone

To him it didn’t seem important or special, but it must have been important for you to pick it up and bring it back over so he put it next to his phone.

You came back with two more stones and you set them next to your jacket and wondered away again.

“What’re you up to now?” Silva called.

You didn’t reply and he turned around to see you climbing one of the trees and he chuckled, walking over and he stood at the bottom of the tree as you stood on one of the branches.

“I can see the school from up here! It looks so tiny!”

Silva jumped up, pulling himself up into the tree and he stood on the branch next to you.

“Wow it really does look small doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s huge. Bet you could see it from space.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

You shrugged a little and sat down, swinging your legs back and forth, and he sat next to you.

“It’s not so bad at Alfea. I like watching the fairies practice, it’s pretty cool. Are you are fairy?”

“No, I’m a specialist. Just a specialist, not as cool as the fairies.”

You glanced at him and looked back at the school.

“I still think that’s pretty cool. You know some cool stuff, you have trained fighting. I know street fighting. I wonder if I could beat you in a fight.”

“We’ll never know.” He replied.

“I think I would. I’ll knock you on your ass in no time.”

Silva laughed a little.

“You keep believing that, I’ve been doing this since before I was your age.”

“Yeah but you don’t know my tricks.”

“Oh so you’ve got tricks now do you?”

“Yup! And you’ll never know when it’s coming.” You grinned.

You looked at the ground, swinging your legs still and you smiled softly to yourself.

“It feels weird here sometimes…”

Silva looked down at you.

“Why’s that?” He asked softly.

You shrugged a little. Kicking the back of his foot lightly.

“I guess.. I got really used to my life and how it was. I didn’t really expect it to chance, I was okay with my life being like that.”

“You didn’t know anything else, I’m sure it seemed like the best life.” He sighed.

You nodded.

“It did. But even if I miss it sometimes I like it here more.”

“I’m glad you do, what makes you like it more?”

You didn’t reply, instead you looked up at him.

“Can you swim?”

“I can.”

You nodded and climbed down the tree and Silva followed you, down to the edge of the river where you crouched down, putting your hand in the water.

“I asked my step dad if I could learn once. He wouldn’t let me, said if I drowned it would be my own fault.”

Silva frowned as he looked at you.

Then an idea hit him, he took his shoes off and his jacket off and he walked into the water until it was waist high and he turned to look at you.

“Come on.” He smiled.

You titled your head a little.

“But I can’t swim?”

“I’m not gonna let anything happen I promise. Take your shoes off.”

You sat down, taking your shoes off and setting them aside and he walked a little closer, holding his hands out to you.

Silva looked at you and smiled.

“It’s alright.”

You reached your hands out, taking his hands and he helped you walk into the water.

“Crap that’s cold!” You yelled.

“You’ll get used to it in a minute, a little further.”

He kept going back until the water was up to your knees and he stopped.

You stood there for a minute, and a wide smile spread across your face as you kicked one of your legs, splashing the water and you did it again.

You tried to act all big and tough, but sometimes, like now, you had moments of childish happiness and that’s what he wanted to bring out.

You let go of his hands and reached them down, splashing water at him and you laughed loudly.

A real laugh, and it made him smile even more because that was the first time he’d heard you laugh like that.

You kept splashing and you stopped looking at him.

Reaching out, you put your hand on your chest and pushed him.

“Oh no, you’ve knocked me over.”

Silva dropped himself into the water, creating a large splash and you closed your eyes as it hit your face and you opened them again, looking at him laying on his back.

“You’re a duck!”

“I’m not a duck!”

He moved upright again.

“I want to be a duck. Can I be a duck? How do I do that?”

“I’ll show you, but you need to trust me okay?”

You nodded and he walked over, and he explained to you what you had to do, but when you went to lay down you panicked and stood back up.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you, I’ll hold you okay?”

You looked at him a little scared.

“I’m not going to let go until you tell me too.”

“Promise me?”

You held out your pinky to him.

“I promise you.”

He linked his pinky with yours and you nodded your head.

He placed his hand on the back of your head.

“Okay, now crouch down, until the water reaches your chin.”

You did as he said and he smiled.

“Amazing, now just let your feet come up. I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes tight and did as he said, and he held your legs up.

“Open your eyes, you’re doing it.”

You peaked an eye open, and you looked at yourself laying on the water and you laughed, a huge smile on your face.

“Now to stay floating, you just need to move your arms in the water, sometimes your legs, go ahead.”

You did as he said and he stayed holding your there.

“I’m like a duck. I can just float down the river.”

“Well unfortunately for you, I’m not letting you float down the river.”

“But I must be with my people Saul! My people need me!”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“You’re people are perfectly fine.”

You grinned a little and he shook his head.

“If you let me go you’ll catch me if I sink right?”

“Of course, I’ll catch you before you sink.”

You nodded and took a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay let go.”

Silva carefully let you go, keeping his hands under the water in case you needed him, but after a few minutes of doing it on your own he took them out the clap.

“Yes! You’ve got it!”

You beamed to yourself.

“I’m a true duck, no I’m a jellyfish!”

Silva laughed, standing there with his arms crossed as he watched you just float in the water with a happy smile on your face.

It was relaxing feeling the small waves hit you, gently pushing you, but when you felt like you were going to far you held your hand out to him.

Silva took your hand, gently pulling you back over and he let go again.

This went on maybe another hour until you decided you wanted to go back.

He picked everything up, and wrapped a towel around you before wrapping one around him and grabbing the bag.

He grabbed his phone and the stone you gave him, and you grabbed your jacket and the other two, holding them tightly.

You were tired by the time you got back, and you couldn’t stop yawning.

“Let’s get you back to your dorm.” He said softly.

“Wait.. I need to go somewhere..”

He nodded and followed you to Farah’s office and let yourself in.

She was talking with a few students and she looked up at you.

You walked over without a word and set one of the stones on her desk.

“Merry Easter.” You yawned.

Farah smiled and picked it up, looking at it.

“Thank you (Y/N).”

You nodded your head and walked away without a word and Farah turned to Silva.

“It’s been a productive day. Sorry for the interruption girls.”

“Is that (Y/N)?” Terra asked.

“Yeah, it is.” He nodded.

“I’m glad they seem to be doing better.”

He smiled.

“Me too.”

Silva turned around to follow you back to your room, and you laid down on the sofa, holding out a book to him.

“Go get changed first, I’ll be back in a minute.”

You nodded and he left to go quickly change clothes and put everything in his room.

Making his way back to your dorm, he knocked lightly before walking in, and you were on the sofa covered in a blanket and you seemed to be fast asleep.

Laughing softly, he walked over and gently shook your shoulder.

“Come on, sleep in your bed.”

You weakly nodded and stood up, padding to your room and he took your jacket from your bed, hanging it on the back of the door while you crawled into bed.

He closed your blinds and turned on the light for you.

“I’ll wake you up for dinner.” He said.

He went to leave but stopped when you softly called his name.

He walked over and crouched down.

“I like it here more.. because you’re here.. you’re safe.. you’re nice to me.. Farah’s nice too.. I like her..”

Silva smiled.

“Get some sleep..” he whispered.

With that, he made his way to his room and sat at his desk, picking up the little stone you gave him, and he set it next to his framed pictures with a smile on his

#fate the winx saga #fate the winx saga imagine #fate the winx saga x reader #fate the winx saga x you #saul silva #saul silva x reader #saul silva x you #saul silva imagine

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doctorstrangereview · 2 months ago

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Strange Tales #128

Cover Date: January 1965 On-Sale Date: October 8, 1965

Doc's cover real estate is growing again. He's got the bottom third of the cover (if you don't count the magazine title on top) and it's our first view of Doc wearing his new cloak and upgraded All-Purpose Amulet. Earlier I said the stakes get bigger from here, but Doc actually gets a break for a couple of stories until things really start heating up. This story wants to show off the new cloak and amulet. The Cloak of Levitation isn't quite in it's final form yet. Fortunately they rethought the yellow and it's now a lovely red. The filigree edging is slightly darker red for now. It will turn it's familiar gold eventually.

Following directly from the previous story, Doc is returning to his Sanctum Santorum from The Ancient One's pad. In a remarkable show of consistency, he returns via a floppy bullseye just like the one that kidnapped him two stories ago. Ditko's rendition of Doc's penthouse level study with the funky skylight is lovingly detailed. But I really wish he'd bring back the gorgeous armoire. The splash page both serves as an introduction to the story instead of just an advertisement, and gives a great view of Doc's more color fashion sense. No sooner has he materialized, someone is frantically knocking at his door.

"I just got home," thinks the exhausted sorcerer. "What the hell do they want?"

At the door is a haggard individual who explains that he escaped from another sorcerer. "I joined up with him as lark, but the dude can really do stuff and want's to take over the world!" We change scenes to this other sorcerer we now know is called The Demon. After recovering from this flood of originality in names and motivations, we find out the Demon is able to look in on Doc. Doc, you really, really, really need to cast some security spells. After blathering on about how he's stronger than Doc and he'll defeat him, his disciple disappears while ratting him out to Doc. All that's left are his clothes. The Demon, in a fit of modesty, has made sure that his disciple's underwear travelled with him. The Demon may be evil, but that doesn't stop him from being a big prude.

Speaking of clothes, the Demon's outfit is pretty wild. I wouldn't have gone with that olive green, but the wild headpiece and color absolutely make it. Coloring them fuchsia is icing on the cake. Those wing sleeves are out of this world!

The Demon even manages block the Orb of Agamotto. It's still called the Eye of Agamotto which will later be the name of the upgraded All-Purpose Amulet. Ditko and Lee can keep their floppy bullseyes straight, but all the gadget names get mixed up here and there. The disciple falls through a trapdoor and the Demon dissolves his spells. I guess this is like pouring bleach on the floor after a particularly messy murder. "I'm safe," he thinks as he sits and a funky looking chair. I think I need to go through all of Ditko's stuff and start a furniture line based on his funky chairs and armoires.

The Orb (Eye) of Agamotto is open again, but clueless. "I ain't beaten yet" says Doc, since he continues to prefer spouting exposition to no one in particular. "A chance to use the new amulet!" and he shines the amulet light (amulight? I may start using that) on the pile of clothes which get up and start walking (commando) to the Demon's hideout. Doc levitates behind the clothes for some, unexplained reason. Like the new amulet, he was probably excited to try out his new gadget. This is also where we discover what the cloak's power is. It wasn't mentioned last month and the splash page just says "new powers of levitation."

The Demon senses Doc's approach and is prepared for Doc's home invasion. Doc is immediately ensnared by the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. They are presented here as a pink polyhedron thing. In the future they tend to be depicted as a ball of red gift-wrapping ribbon. Doc actually shrinks to the size of a big paperweight and the Demon attempts to destroy him, to no avail.

Now comes the part that I still find confusing after all these years. Doc claims he escaped before the bands fully closed, but he is depicted as his astral self and his body still appears inside the bands. Doc claims this is merely an image while he cheats by studying the Demon's musty old tomes. Once he's caught up he returns to him image and gets all ominous. "Gotcha, weird dude!" and proceeds to shatter his pink prison. The Demon tries to pile on the spells, but Doc deflects them all. We get another visually great battle, even if Doc is just playing with the Demon. I've always found this image particularly striking.

Finally the Demon is like "I'll just throw everything and kitchen sink at him all at once and see if anything sticks!" Doc pretty much flicks it all aside with a wave of his hands. Then Doc's like "time to show off the new amulet again!" The amulet opens, grows to giant size and just vacuums up all the Demon's evil spells!

How great is that?! It's the light of truth and a big Electrolux! Think of all the money Doc saved by not having to buy a Roomba. The Demon throws a Hail Mary pass activating the trap door that claims his disciple. Thanks to Doc's new freaky horned cloak, it's ineffectual and even gives Doc a chance to rescue the stupid disciple that started this whole fiasco. Doc non-consensually wipes the Demon's mind of his sorcerous knowledge and the now-clothed former disciple waves good-bye as Doc flies home.

I have affection for this story. It's really just meant to introduce Doc's souped up powers and more colorful look, with enough original elements to leave him recognizable. The story is a typical supervillain tries to conquer the world. His minion feels remorse and rats him out to the authorities. While the Demon is pretty one-note and two dimensional here, his look is carefully and well crafted. He'll pop up a few more times, but won't grow as a character. Ditko did a great job illustrating the story giving us good looks at the interior of Doc's house and the Demon's hideout. The exterior of the Demon's pad even looks a bit like a vertically squashed version of Doc's pad. It's a fun romp that gives us an occasionally returning villain, if not a very useful one.

#doctor strange #doctor strange reviews #strange tales #stephen strange #demon #demonicus

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cherrygirlystuff · 3 months ago

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Brat Summer Beauty – Bold Looks for a Carefree Season!

Hey, babe! 🌸 So, summer’s in full swing, and you know what that means – it’s time to turn up the heat with some seriously bold beauty looks. Welcome to Brat Summer, where the vibe is all about being fearless, fun, and unapologetically yourself. Whether you’re soaking up the sun at the beach, hitting up festivals, or just living your best life, these Brat Summer beauty tips are here to help you slay all season long. Let’s get into it! 🎧✨

What is Brat Summer Beauty? 🌟

First things first – what exactly is Brat Summer beauty? Picture this: You’re mixing playful 2000s nostalgia with a touch of rebellious attitude, all while keeping things effortlessly chic. Think bold makeup looks, eye-catching colors, and a carefree spirit that says, “I’m here to have fun, and I’m going to look amazing doing it.” Brat Summer is all about stepping out of your comfort zone and embracing your inner diva, with a side of sass and a whole lot of confidence. Ready to channel your inner brat? Let’s go!

Bold Eyes – Make Them Look Twice 👀

This summer, it’s all about making your eyes pop with bold, unexpected looks. Here’s how to do it:

1. Neon Liner for Days 🌈

Nothing says Brat Summer like a swipe of neon eyeliner. Go for electric blue, neon pink, or lime green – anything that screams, “Look at me!” Whether you’re doing a classic wing or getting creative with graphic shapes, neon liner is the perfect way to add a splash of color to your look. Pro tip: Pair your bold liner with a simple base and nude lips to let your eyes really steal the show.

2. Glitter and Shimmer ✨

Who doesn’t love a little sparkle? This summer, we’re going all out with glittery eyeshadows and shimmery highlighters. Sweep a glittery shadow across your lids for a playful, party-ready look, or go subtle with a shimmer in the inner corners of your eyes. And don’t forget to highlight those cheekbones with a glowing powder or liquid highlighter – we want you to shine, babe!

3. Bold Brows 💥

Brat Summer is the perfect time to amp up your brow game. Think thick, bold, and slightly messy – the kind of brows that make a statement. Use a tinted brow gel or a pomade to fill in and shape your brows, then brush them up for that fluffy, feathery effect. It’s all about embracing your natural brows but giving them that extra oomph.

Statement Lips – Pucker Up, Gorgeous 💋

Your lips are about to be the star of the show. Here’s how to make them pop:

1. Bright, Bold Lips 💄

Summer is the season to play with color, and your lips are no exception. Go for bold shades like fiery reds, hot pinks, or even a daring orange. Matte or glossy – it’s up to you. Just make sure your lips are hydrated and prepped so that your color stays vibrant all day long. For an extra Brat touch, line your lips with a slightly darker shade before filling them in – hello, 2000s vibes!

2. Glossy Glam 💧

If you’re more of a gloss girl, this is your moment. Glossy lips are back in a big way, and we’re loving it. Layer on a clear gloss over your favorite lipstick for a juicy finish, or go for a tinted gloss to keep things low-key but still super cute. And don’t forget those glitter glosses – they’re perfect for adding that extra sparkle to your smile.

Playful Nails – Hands Down, The Best Accessories 💅

Your nails are the ultimate canvas for creativity this summer. Here’s what’s hot:

1. Bold Nail Art 🎨

Why settle for one color when you can have them all? This summer, we’re all about bold nail art – think vibrant colors, funky patterns, and a little bit of everything. Mix and match designs on each nail, go for neon French tips, or add some cute stickers and gems. The goal is to have fun and let your nails reflect your personality.

2. Pastel Perfection 🌸

If bold isn’t your vibe, pastels are the perfect alternative. Soft pinks, baby blues, lilacs, and mint greens – these colors are giving us all the sweet, carefree summer feels. Pastel nails are cute, understated, and totally on-trend. Plus, they look amazing with a tan!

Carefree Hair – Let It Flow, Babe 💇‍♀️

Last but not least, let’s talk hair. Brat Summer is all about effortless styles that are as cool as they are easy. Here’s how to rock your locks:

1. Beachy Waves 🌊

Nothing says summer like tousled, beachy waves. Whether you’re naturally curly or stick-straight, you can achieve that laid-back, surfer-girl look with a little help from sea salt spray. Just spritz onto damp hair, scrunch it up, and let it air dry. The result? Effortless waves that look like you’ve been chilling by the ocean all day.

2. Playful Accessories 🎀

Hair accessories are your BFF this summer. Think colorful scrunchies, patterned headbands, cute clips, and oversized bows. Not only are they practical for keeping your hair out of your face in the heat, but they also add a playful touch to any outfit. Plus, they’re a great way to experiment with different looks without committing to a new hairstyle.

3. Messy Buns & Braids 🌀

When it’s too hot to deal with your hair, messy buns and braids are your go-to. Keep it loose, keep it relaxed, and don’t worry about it being perfect – that’s part of the charm! Try a loose fishtail braid or a low bun with face-framing tendrils. It’s chic, easy, and totally Brat Summer.

Final Thoughts, Gorgeous: Unleash Your Brat Summer Beauty 💋

So, there you have it, babe – your guide to slaying the Brat Summer beauty game. It’s all about being bold, having fun, and embracing your unique style. Whether you’re rocking neon liner, glossy lips, or beachy waves, just remember to be confident and own your look. This summer is yours, so make it as colorful, carefree, and fabulous as possible!

What bold beauty look are you trying out this Brat Summer? Let’s chat in the comments – I can’t wait to see how you’re slaying the season! 💕

#makeup #brat album #charli xcx brat #brat summer #charli xcx #guess #von dutch #brat charli xcx #brat wall #2014 grunge #grunge makeup #summer makeup #2014 nostalgia #2014 tumblr

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original-character-championship · 2 years ago

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Bracket F Round 1

Poll 27

Izulda & Seph (@cizzle-freezy) vs. Liam & Charlie (@distortedsoup & @zacdrawsstuff)

373. Izulda Roshan & Seph Nightshade (@cizzle-freezy)

She/Her and He/They

Izulda has never gotten along too well with others. She's rude, rough around the edges, and can pack a punch, but has a soft and sensitive side. However, that's not the reason why people keep her distance: it is because, unlike her fellow fae with blood that can cure wounds, her blood is a numbing poison. Don't get her wrong, she doesn't WANT to hurt people-- it happens on accident! ... Well, most of the time.

Seph on the other hand, is the last of his family. Cursed by a Moon Goddess, Glacia. Has even lived through death and undeath. Despite his timid nature, he wants to prove to everyone that he's strong enough to protect his loved ones. Perhaps even follow in his mother's footsteps, and become an exorcist. The duo met by chance, and after an adventure to save their worlds, they have become near-inseparable since.

Izulda: 5ft0in in height, almost-neon green eyes and fairy wings (with a scar on her right upper wing), and darker green hair, often dresses in purples, or aquas. Her body is shaped in a style similar to 2000s-era cartoons.

Seph: 5ft2in in height, ice blonde hair, body littered with snow white scars. His eyes are blue and orange. He's often found not caring about how he dresses, as long as it is colorful enough, but he's rarely seen without his aqua-colored coat. (The "sunandmoonWM.png" file should have their most recent appearances together, but other refs have been included just in case.)

374. Liam - full name William Trianle & Charlie (@distortedsoup & @zacdrawsstuff

Liam: he/him | Charlie: any

In Zac's words, the original creator of Liam, he "was basically a single dad to several pain-in-the-ass kids, gay, ace, has a fun alter ego and a boyfriend, plant dad, archivist, gentle parent, protective parent." So. Essentially the ideal Tumblr Babygirl.

Liam is an incredibly prominent character in a role-play we have been running for almost three years now (more information about its lore and what the terms I'll be using here:

He started out working in a section of the memory archives, where he met Charlie - his assistant at the time, after he accidentally scared off his first one by talking too firmly. They soon became incredibly close, and by the time they get considered to leave the archives they are both painfully in love.

Through a mix of methodical work ethic and making sure quite a few people owed him favors (things like that are taken very seriously in their world), Liam was very quickly offered an upgrade from archivist to head supervisor, which is an incredibly coveted position. He would have taken the role gladly, if not for the fact he thought that Charlie was interested in one of the other head supervisors and wanted to give them a better shot at getting to know her. So Charlie ended up getting a role that he was frankly woefully unprepared for, and Liam became a regular old supervisor.

Around this point they lost contact with each other for a long time other than letters and such, because Charlie had no idea where Liam was located, and Liam was so caught up in his work he never got a chance to let them know/didn't want to rekindle the feelings he had worked so hard to ignore for them. What did end up happening, instead of trying to find his partner, Liam started taking in some kids (protectors, facets, whatever) and teaching them the ropes. Skip a couple decades and he has a lovely little family going with his funky little kids who are relatively pyramid-scheme free, and he has a pretty good schtick.

Through (kidnapping) coming across one of these kids Charlie gets back into contact with Liam, who in turn regretfully lets them stay - those feelings from the archives sadly didn't go away overnight.

Skipping over some fights, pouting, and bribing (Charlie) and negotiating, protecting, and attempting to get the other to leave (Liam) the pair ended up settling down with a compromise. Charlie could stay and bother Liam as much as xey like, but they are not allowed in proximity of any of his protectors without being supervised (Charlie traumatised two of Liam's protectors already, out of nine, so they don't have a good streak in that regard).

With that in mind they end up warming up to each other again, Liam letting himself take breaks and Charlie's forcing of those breaks becoming less and less- well, forceful. And, at some point, they fall back in love. Of course without an archive or a boss to stop them, Liam upgrades yet again - from a single dad of nine to a taken dad of nine + an idiot.

A lovely idiot though, and as their story progresses Charlie figures out how to adapt to Liam's parenting style with his kids, and Liam grows to trust them and learn to take a step back, allowing his protectors to learn alone sometimes. Even if it leads to more accidents than learning - it's the experience that counts.

Charlie is a tall person with no skin, rather muscle. The muscle is a wide variety of colors, like it was tie-dyed, and a splattering of eyes. Her arms stop just above the elbows and its hands float around it rather than remaining attached to the body. His hair is colorful like their body and can be changed at will to a wide variety of styles and textures, and she usually wears a white flowing skirt and no shirt.

Liam is also tall, with brown skin and loose dark curly hair and a bit of a scruffy beard. He is a bit gangly and thin, and the fact that he wears baggy clothes a tad bit too big for him only adds to that effect. His favorite shirt is a cream colored sweater with splotches of brown and black, reminiscent of the belly of a spot-bellied eagle owl (yes that's a real animal). His pants are grey slacks. He has brown eyes, though they can turn a bright orange. He also has reading glasses (but don't tell him you know that).

Control shares Liam's body and looks just about the same physically, though he likes to sport a black suit with orange highlights and sometimes takes an almost shadowy form.

#oc championship #tournament poll #round 1 #bracket f #373 izulda & seph #374 liam & charlie

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thatmarvelobsessedteen · 7 months ago

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Not planned...not at all

Cassian x reader

Azriel x OC! reader'scousin

Short Summary: Two girls, cousins, somehow find themselves inside a slightly modified version of their favorite book saga ACOTAR. What will happen to them, things have changed and not just their situation but themselves...are those pointy ears they now have?

Chapter 13

I...I don't know what came over me but I saw red at the direct threat to Roxy's life.

My back felt like it was burning, like something was tearing my skin off my bones. I heard my heartbeat ringing in my ears and saw a red wave of energy that seemed to escape me as it beats. I saw Nesta flying backwards because of it, the air knocked out of her lungs.

Everything didn't come back to normal immediately, smaller less dangerous red waves left me to the beat of my slowing heart and I panted blinking in an attempt to wash away the red.

Something did feel normal, like my back was weird, heavier or just larger? Like my awareness of the space my body took up had to suddenly become bigger.

"Try and say that again."

My back still bothers me though, it feels weird no longer sore but very weird. Out of habit I roll back my shoulder and it's all even weirder, like I can feel my back more than normal.

Nesta is coughing trying to catch her breath her eyes glowing incredibly bright as she looks more angry and confused than ever.

"Why isn't it working? Why won't either of you die?!"

Oh so she's already trying?! And it just won't work...

That's too bad Nesta cuz now you're just as weak as you thought me to be! What are you without your powers babe? Just an annoying bitch.

I'm steps away from throwing myself at her, nailing at least a few kicks and clawing at her face like a wild cat but two arms move quickly under my armpits holding me back.

"Let me go, let me go her funky powers aren't worth shit. She's all bark no bite, I'ma show her bite!"

Roxanne just chuckle behind me holding me tighter and I feel weirdly constricted like I'm being completely pinned down.

"No your not, pump the brakes lion, your mane's all over the place!"

Finally Roxanne let's go and I do my best to flatten my crazy hair, that does sort of look like an unruly mane at the moment.

"Also what's up with the wings?"

Roxy looked so calm as she commented that it took me a while to process.

"My what?"

My hand reached back only to feel something that was definitely not there before. I can clearly feel it as though it's my skin but the sensation on my palm is rougher and harsher almost like it's an animal's thick skin.

Of course this means I'm jumping and turning around in circles trying to get a look for myself only to end up having to grab on to one and pull it more in front of me.

"Woah...what the actual fuck, how did I even? Since when? What's happening?!"

My wings seem to rather respond to emotion than my mental attempts at clenching muscles I didn't even have before, so of course while I'm freaking out the free wing had to extend fully hitting Lucien straight on.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar x oc #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x oc #cassian #cassian acotar #cassian x oc #cassian x reader

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feverinfeveroutfic · 8 months ago

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The Confectioner’s Tale

a/n: no idea if this will remain a one shot or if i’ll expand it further. the fanfic community just doesn’t like me no matter what i do and i don’t think any of them realize how isolating this is, either.

They call the neighborhood “the tombstone mile”, mainly because every other establishment had fallen on hard times in recent months, and we were the only place that had our heads above water. The pink lettering stared out to the busy street of Los Angeles, and I had a way of honoring the whole shebang from my beginnings as a standard pastry chef fresh out of the Central Valley and back to the place where it all began for me there, in the southland.

As far as I knew, the higher-ups of Smell the Magic had enough money to open up a couple of new venues out here on the western wing of the country, one back in my real home of Reno and one out in Hawai’i.

And as far as I knew, because the shop here in L.A. was the only one running at its best and ran on my elbow grease as I carried it upon my shoulders, I could qualify for a transfer to one of those spots. And if I went back home or out to the ocean, I knew that I would be turning over a new leaf, after I had turned over a new leaf already.

You wouldn’t think of a girl who had lost over seventy pounds to be working in a funky little bakery, but here we are: I tightened up the belt at the small of my back, and I let the blood red apron fit my body like a glove. I had the net over my hair and my Soundgarden pendant close to my chest: I never went to the bakery without my pendant, just so long as I kept it at a certain length on my chest.

I had done something so stupid ten years before. I was your given obsessed fangirl who had the bad idea of writing a letter to Ben Shepherd. I had a crush on him, there was no way around it. The reason why I say it was a dumb idea was because the letter coincided with a time in my life I would choose to forget if presented with the choice. I had made peace with my demons a long time ago, but he loomed over me like a dark specter, especially when I thought about that time of my life.

It felt as though I could never find the right words upon writing, even with the shards of sanity I had left within me. I wrote the damned thing in pen, too, so I had hope that he found me sincere. I had filled out three pages of paper, front and back.

I had no idea about his relationship status, especially as I had never seen him with a wedding ring on his finger or heard any mention of a girlfriend other than a failed relationship prior to my writing.

You know. Typical “scoop this dude up from the muck before someone else does” type of shit that I soon realized was a bad idea. Never mind the fact that this was a major long shot, writing a letter from the forefront of a broken mind and a fragile heart to a guy whom I had never met let alone the bassist of my favorite band Soundgarden, but I was going in deep here.

He had gotten it. As far as I knew, he read it. I wound up writing him four more times as a result: my fifth letter to him was on his birthday and no one had seen him for months prior to then, either, so it was like coaxing out a venomous snake out of hiding so I could try and capture it.

We were hundreds of miles apart but I could feel him, though, and I knew that he could feel me as well…

Sometimes, whenever I thought about him, I had the strangest, most inexplicable sense of nostalgia overcome me. He just got up and left, it felt like, and I hadn’t seen him since then, I hadn’t talked to him since then, and to make matters worse, I had seen a photo of him back around Christmas and time had not been all that kind to him: an otherwise young man with a head of scraggly rich dark hair grayed out to cigarette smoke, smooth skin now with the texture of leather, crooked teeth now browned and made to look like those from a corpse, and a slender beautiful body now incredibly heavy and massive, and to the point where I could feel the heart disease coming on just with a mere look at him. I choked up at the sight of him, as I knew that I had something to do with his transformation into the portrait tucked away in the attic.

A part of me wanted to write to him again, but I had long lost his address, and thus, I had no other means of contacting him. I still yearned the idea of writing him another letter.

But at the same time, I also had no desire to pick at that old wound.

Ben had hurt me and went on with his life with someone else, and last I heard, they had had a couple of kids together, which in turn left me in the weeds.

But I never had the chance to leave him behind, however, even as I myself started over again in a new place and with a brand-new look to me. His ghost still haunted me.

I never got closure.

Sometimes I held my Soundgarden pendant and wondered as to what could have been with him, had we not drifted apart and gone our separate ways. I needed an answer, whenever I thought about it long and hard enough. His parents and entire family had lived up there since like World War Two, so I knew that should push come to shove, I would have to dig around for him. Ask people where the big tall dead man walking resided on Bainbridge Island because I needed an answer.

I ran my fingers down the edge of the pendant, which had been crafted in the shape of a guitar pick. It ran through my mind, the tombstone of my love for him. I had the stone but no way to place it six feet under.

But I vowed to remain as soft as water no matter what, though. He was slowly digging his own grave and I had no way of saving him.

I turned my attention to the counter behind me to prepare for the day’s work, and no sooner had I done so when the tallest man I had ever seen in my life strode into the bakery. Ben looked at well over six feet in height but he must have easily been more than that. He towered high over me with his long beautiful smooth black hair and stern facial expression: his green eyes penetrated through me as if they emanated from the shadows. He was long and lanky but strong and sinewy, as if he worked out on a regular basis.

“Hi,” I could hardly muster the word out of me. He stooped down and folded his arms over the edge of the display case so we were face to face with each other. He showed me a quaint smile, to which the corners of his eyes crinkled up.

“Hi.” His voice was smooth and low, with the biggest timbre I ever heard in my life. He made me think of a vampire.

“What can I do for you on this fine morning?” My heart pounded in my chest at the sight of him: I had no idea if it came from his towering, almost overwhelming height or from those deep, penetrating eyes that seemed to be gazing into my soul.

“I’m looking for a green cake… with Bailey’s or some kind of liqueur mixed in,” he stated to me.

“We have our Bailey’s chocolate cake and cupcakes for St. Patrick’s Day,” I replied.

“Only for St. Paddy’s Day, though?” he reiterated with a furrowing of his eyebrows.

“Pretty much. We do have a green cake in the works, though. It’s pistachio and chocolate, and we’re experimenting with green tea in some cupcakes as well. But I’ll tell you this.” I gestured for him to come in closer to me; when he did, I caught a whiff of a smoky cologne on the side of his neck. “I could put an order in and we could whip one up for you if you’d like.”

“Please do,” he said in a soft tone of voice. An absolute gentle giant, nothing like Ben. I reached to my left for the pen and the notepad to take it down.

“A green cake with Bailey’s incorporated?” I asked him.

“You know it, doll.” I picked up on a slight New Yorker accent: not the most exotic accent I had heard there in the bakery, but not the most common one, however. “Bailey’s, pistachio, and a chocolate layer on top.”

“Like a ganache?”

“Yeah, that! Something nice and nutty and chocolate with a bit of decadence drizzled within.”

I scrawled it all down in one fell swoop, and I could feel him looking at the pendant around my neck.

“And, may I have a name?” I asked him.

“Pete.”

“The dynamic Pete,” I repeated. “And an address?”

“I’m staying at the hotel across the street for the next week,” he replied. “Room 513.”

“Room 513, got it.”

“And I can pay then?”

“You absolutely can,” I assured him as I clicked the pen and tucked it back into the front pocket of my apron: I never intended it to do so, but he looked down the collar of my shirt when I put the pen back.

“You know, you are really beautiful,” he remarked to me with a slight twinkle to his eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you took a peek down my shirt,” I teased him.

“Not necessarily,” he assured me with a slightly smug look on his face. “I really do mean that, my dear.”

A warmth washed over me, and I bowed my head at that. I was glad that I had been growing out my bangs at that point because I would have wanted them to sweep over my face for that glamour magazine look for him anyway.

“Maybe when I have it delivered, I can have a note included that reads ‘from the gorgeous baker’,” I joked, but he looked on at me with a thoughtful look on his face.

I only joked around, but I would think about that look all day long.

There was another guy who came in later that day. He was tall as well, but he only leaned against the edge of the display case with only one elbow. He had the cutest bulbous nose and the smoothest lips, like little Rainier cherries, and the longest blackest curls I had ever seen in my life: at the crown of his head was a tiny plume of silver about the size of a thumb of ginger.

His electric blue eyes locked onto me as if he was watching me from the nearest lighthouse overlooking the ocean.

“Hi,” he greeted me; his voice made me think of molasses given it was rich and full and yet very soft. He showed me a sweet little grin which hung off to the side a bit.

“Hi,” I returned the favor to him.

“Word on the street is that you make a mean cheesecake here,” he told me.

“And you’d be right, too,” I assured him. “Classic New York, plus Basque and Japanese. And we also have a raspberry cheesecake, and a cinnamon apple one.”

“Cinnamon apple, really?” He raised his eyebrows and his entire face lit up

“We make it for the Jewish New Year and the first day of fall,” I explained. “There’s this one Jewish family who comes in the day before Rosh Hashanah and they always ask me for it.”

“Oh, man, that sounds amazing,” he decreed with a hand pressed to his chest. “I’m Jewish so I’ll have to remember that.” He waggled his eyebrows at me a bit, to which I smiled at him.

“What exactly makes it Japanese cheesecake, too?” he asked me.

“It’s really emphatic on the ‘cheese’ part,” I replied, “and to the point it’s quite pillowy and soft. The crust is thin and almost nonexistent. It’s so… delicate.” I raised my eyebrows and flicked the tip of my tongue to him.

“I really like the way you just said that,” he admitted to me.

“What, ‘delicate?’”

“Yeah. Like you were trying to entice me or something.”

“Because it is enticing,” I assured him with a little gyration of my head. “We’ve been thinking of incorporating a vein of matcha into that one, too. Make it a little more authentically Japanese.”

“I’m such a sucker for authenticity,” he confessed with a sly smirk and a shake of his head. “Those perfectly imperfect human breaths of fresh air in an otherwise phony world that’s becoming more and more fake as time goes on.”

“We try our best,” I assured him. “And I do, too.”

“It’s so brave,” he said, and he showed me the tip of his tongue as well as the hooding to his eyes. Even with a display case between us, I could feel something else in there. The whirring rush of a waterfall in a sunrise in a dance of fire and water. Where Pete gave me a dose of heat, this boy here sent a chill up my spine and a feeling that I had found an oasis in an otherwise scorched, parched desert. A great number of souls came through the front door day by day, but none of them had as much of a hold on me as these two guys.

“Sign me up for a New York one,” he suggested, and he flexed his long thin fingers before me. A fair number of thoughts went through my mind at the sight of those fingers.

“A whole one or a slice?” I offered him.

“I’ll just take a slice for the time being,” he quipped. “You can take it over to the hotel across the street to Room 518.”

“Room 518, really?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “Something significant about the hotel across the way?”

I shook my head. “No, not really.”

“You wouldn’t react like that if you didn’t have a significance to it,” he pointed out to me. I locked onto his blue eyes again. He dug out the truth from me just like how standing on the edge of the ocean washed away the sands of time and beheld the truth.

“There was a guy who came in here earlier who’s staying over there,” I told him. “Like… a few doors down from you.”

I couldn’t lie to him. I had stretched the truth with Ben in my letters to him, but I could never do that with him. And I had a feeling that I could never do it with Pete, either.

“Wow.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s gonna be busy over there, if you catch my drift.” He chuckled, a full hearty chuckle that sounded as though it came from deep within him. I couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

“What’s your name?” I asked him as I held the tip of the pen to the notepad.

“Alex,” he replied.

“Jew boy Alex,” I reiterated. “I’ll make sure there’s a nice, fat slice of rich, decadent New York cheesecake waiting for you and your tummy.”

He flashed me a wink, and a shiver ran up my spine. I watched him go out to the street with those long black curls drifted back from his head in thick waves.

I may have lost Ben but I had been sent two more angels in his wake. But then there was the rumor that had been started against me in particular by the kids down the street.

#the confectioner’s tale #the confectioner’s tale fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #testament #testament fanfic #testament band #type o negative #alex skolnick #peter steele #oc tag #also on ao3 #writing #text #bakery au #april fool's day

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