#vague-ish context

[edwardpinestar]

Is it okay if I ask for a request for a print someone once asked you? Where in the Shepherd of Los Muertos AU where a rival God kidnaps Puss? And Death comes in, sickles slashing to find his cat chained up and gagged in the God’s grip?

Ooo, I like the request! I was never planning on writing something like this for SoLM, but now I suppose I shall! Hope you enjoy!

The last thing Puss remembered was being at a party. Well, to call it a party would be overly generous- it was more of a gala, with subdued music, quiet conversation in which was a nightmarish minefield of things that would offend to venture, and people dressed far too elaborately to do anything.

Puss himself had been dressed in a restrictive black gown, with a high neckline that tucked underneath his red fabric collar, a tight, corset bodice, with a silver sickle shaped brooch, encrusted with diamonds over the left breast. The sleeves had puffed out at the shoulder in a leg of mutton shape, and tapered tight to his arm at his elbow down, having three, black fabric covered, decorative buttons on the outside of his wrist on both arms. The gown had had several layers of tull petticoats, all black, and a hoop skirt to add extra volume, with the outer skirt, like the rest, being black silk, and the bottom hem having the repeating pattern of a wolf chasing a cat. He'd had a circlet on as well, a dreadful thing made of black twisting metal with blood red rubies.

He woke up somewhere very different to where he'd last been.

The tabby awoke groaning, his mouth as dry as sandpaper, and a headache pounding behind his stinging eyes. His arms were being uncomfortably forced over his head, and he could feel cold manacles aorund his wrists, while he was kneeling on cold ground, his knees aching in protest.

Puss smacked his lips, blearily blinking, and looking around. He was in a small cell, with metal bars in front of him, a single, burning sconce on the wall past those bars. It's flickery light barely reached Puss, leaving him in mostly darkness. The cat was now nude as well, he realised, though it was hardly as consequential as it could've been, if he were humanoid. All he wore was the red collar with a silver tag, and, he discovered with a flex of his left paw, his wedding and engagement ring. No doubt because those items could not be stripped from him.

He did not recongise the cell he was in- when Death had locked him in a similar situation before, he'd been in the usual room he was put in for punishment, but this room... it did not even feel as though it were in Limbo, the air missing the strange stillness distinctive of that realm. Besides, he generally had some kind of warning for punishments. The last thing he remembered was stepping away from the 'party' for a moment.

Puss had been kidnapped, he came to the conclusion of. Who would dare kidnap him, he did not know, but he could tell he had been.

And as if on cue, he heard the click of either heels, or hooves, on stone. His ears perked up, and for a brief moment Puss debated feigning unconciousness, before a heavy wooden door scrapped open, and he decided he'd rather ask questions.

Out into view, stepped a small, brown rabbit, wearing heeled sandals, a crisp white toga, and a gold, leaf crown atop her head. The Goddess of Spring, Puss recongised. He'd heard her be called Vers once or twice by her husband, the God of Fertility, but by the way she'd glared at him for that, it was probably best to stick with Spring.

Spring startled upon seeing him, her green eyes widening for a moment, before setting into something cold and hard. "Lesser Lord," she cooly greeted him by his title alone.

"Lady Spring," Puss returned, voice cracking part way through. He refused to feel embarrassed for it, however- it was her fault for letting him get so dehydrated. "I must say, I was not expecting you."

She half-shrugged, as though agreeing with him. "I was not expecting to be put in such a situation this became necessary," Spring replied. Puss raised an eyebrow, prompting her to speak. "I'm sure you understand, this is far from personal-"

"You hate me, Spring, let's not kid ourselves," Puss interrupted with a roll of his eyes. Spring glared at him, pulling a pair of golden gloves from a hidden pocket in her toga, and slowly pulling them on, one by one.

Spring sniffed haughtily, before going on to speak as if uninterrupted, "You husband has crossed me for the last time. I am sick of his... his constant agression! He's taken too many of my fairies for me to let be."

Puss sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Okay. And so why am I involved?" he asked, "I do not do any reaping." The tabby scoffed as Spring, under her breath, mumbled an insult about him 'being lazy'.

"I am using you to hurt him. I'm luring him in to them kill you in front of him," she replied firmly.

Puss waited a beat, expecting her to say something more, but when she didn't, he burst into cackling laughter. Spring's face morphed into one of offence, but Puss paid that no mind, much to engrossed in his own morbid mirth.

"What? Why are you laughing?" Spring demanded harshly, putting her paws on her hips and striking a more threatening pose.

"Are you stupid?" Puss asked her, looking at her with bemusment. Spring's offence turned into apocolyptic rage. "You must be."

Spring grabbed the bars, and threw open the previously seamless door so hard it banged against the stone wall. Puss flinched away at the lound sound, metal ringing in his ears. The rabbit strode into the cell, and Puss pulled himself up a bit, opening his mouth to say something biting, before he was cut off by Spring slapping him across the face, and then grabbing his chin roughly.

"How dare you speak to me like that, you impudent little half-mortal!" Spring yelled, snarling in his face as her claws dug into the soft underside of his chin. His face stung hot where she'd slapped him, and he knew he'd have a nasty bruise there for a while.

Not much appreciating that, he hissed, both as a cat does, and with words right after, "You are incredibly stupid if you think Death is going to leave you alive after this." While Puss was not generally one to threaten people with Death, he wasn't above it either. Then again, was it a threat, or a warning?

Spring scoffed, rolling her eyes. "He will not kill me," she told him smugly, "I am far too important. Lady Fate would have his disgusting dog head on a platter."

Puss acquiesced with a slight incline of his head, though Spring did not allow him to move far, and tightened her hold of his chin in response. "Did you forget what he did to Lighning?" Puss asked her in a deceptively light tone. By the widening of her eyes, she had, in fact, forgotten.

Death had cut off both of Lighning's hands, after the lower god had decided it would be funny to pretend to be Death and attempt to sleep with Puss. Puss had immediately cottoned on that something wasn't right, as Death had never been so genuinely sweet to him, but had somewhat played along out of curiousity. Death had walked in on it, after Lighning had convinced Puss to go to another room with him, and upon seeing Lightning holding Puss against the wall with his paw underneath the tabby's skirts, had attacked and nearly killed the other god.

It had, in all, been a surprisingly funny affair, in which Life had had to step in and drag Death off of Lightning, and Puss played the terrified and tricked husband. The bite of claim on his shoulder had burned for weeks after, as Death kept re-biting it, and was the only reason Puss regretted going along with it all.

Quite suddenly, Spring slapped Puss again, on the other side of his face, and shouted, "Shut up!" at him. Her eyes were a bit wild, and as Puss flexed his jaw, both sides of his face now stinging, she conjured a gold, silk piece of fabric.

Just as Puss opened his mouth to speak, Spring suddenly shoved the fabric into his maw, and deftly tied it tight at the nape of his neck. "Mggh?"

A low, long howl echoed through, interuppting their now onesided conversation, and both the half-mortal and god perked up at the sound, both of them with apprehension on their faces. Spring swore under her breath, and looked back down at him, expectantly. Puss just shrugged.

She released his chin, and scuttled away from him, brushing her paws against her toga as she ran to the cell door. Spring stopped in her tracks as the wooden door out of view scrapped open. For a tense moment, nothing came of it, both Spring and Puss watching the door, though Puss only able to see the general area of the door, with trepadation.

Cautiously, Spring took a few steps back.

And as if on cue, a sharp, mournful, dangerous whistle filled the air, echoing through the small cell, bouncing off the walls and drilling its way deep under goosebump covered flesh. Puss' fur stood on end, his eyes thin slits, as Spring stumbled back, making distance between herself and the door as fast as possible.

"L-Lord Death-!" she squeaked, panic clear on her face and in her voice. Puss couldn't help but feel a bit vindicated at her fear, though it was mostly overwhelmed by his own, as he watched the wolf step into view.

Death had his hood pulled fully up, shadowing his face, save for his long muzzle and glowing red eyes. His two sickles were held drawn at his side, and he twirled them as the song he whistle dwindled to a stop. The silence hung heavy and thick in the air, before being broken by the greater god, in a deep, angry, rumbling voice, saying, "You have something that belongs to me."

"Heh, do I?" Spring asked, her nervous panic growing more evident by the way she shifted from foot-to-foot as though about to run. It would be futile to try, however, and would likely just make it worse. Never a good idea to tempt a pursuit predator into chase, after all.

Death growled, pulling his lips back in a vicious snarl as he advanced. "Yes." Spring yelped, then darted to the side, only to scream in pain as Death lashed out with a sickle, slicing against her middle and chest, sending her toppling to the ground.

But Death paid the whimpering rabbit no more mind, swiftly closing the distance between himself and the cat, who shrunk back fearfully in teh face of him. "Oh, mi gatito," Death cooed, a far-cry from the deadly monster he'd been before, "Look at you..."

His paw brushed along Puss' cheek, the tabby wincing at the slight pressure on the bruise. Death looked at him with confusion, for a moment, before understanding, followed by pure rage, filled his eyes, and he whirled around with a snarl towards Spring...

Only to find her not there, a trail of golden blood leading out the door in her place instead. Death took a single step forward, before huffing, and sheathing his sickles at his waist with a flourish, before truning back to Puss. He grabbed the chains where they pegged to the wall, and roughly ripped them out, sending particules of stone down onto Puss' head. The cat flinched, squeezing his eyes shut to try and prevent any rubble from getting into them.

He meowed, the noise muffled by the gag, as he was suddenly picked up by the wolf, and cradled to his chest. "There we go amor~ Death crooned, eyes soft in the disgusting facsimile of love, one that made Puss' stomach turn with nausea as sickenly sweet fear wafted off him, no doubt like a drug to the god. "All safe and sound now~"

Puss would, in all honestly, prefer to going back to taking his chance with Spring over this.

[paradoxlemonade]

I figured out Ibis paint's watercolor brushes :D

[crystal-grotto]

//idle thought that could be made angst a bit: Alex being considered/called an Endling in certain scenarios or AUs

[transsexual-terabyte]

i still think its kinda wild that i just. decided not to go into the light when i died. and it worked

[lensdeer]

Apparently I recorded this on my birthday 3 years ago?????

I have literally no memory at all of making this but it sounds way better than I would've expected what the fuck why didn't I finish this song what,,,

[fightaers]

going feral thinking abt iz.uku's train of thoughts when it comes to k.atsuki bc legit its like: i want to go back to all those summer days with you / i know i can never go back to all those summer days with you / i think u would have hated me if i said i wanted to be around u / u did used to hate me when i said wanted to be around u / please look at me k.acchan / please have a life without me / can we pretend we're back to being three and we're best friends and that was enough / oh, he's dead oh he's injured oh he's torn apart and oh if it means he'll live and he's safe and he's happy, i think it's better if me and k.acchan lives life separately / we can never be separated, not really

[beskad]

.

ok yeah i think the holiday blues are affecting me way more than i thought. I love Christmas, it was always my favorite holiday growing up. But it's so interwoven with extensive, constant, prolonged, ongoing trauma that it's. Idk. Tainted. I love Christmas and I'm so excited for it leading up to it, and then a few days before I just get so depressed. Last year, I spent all Christmas day in bed (like 11 hours) crying and falling asleep and then crying more. I miss my mom. She is horrible and she only ever hurts me. But I wish I was with her anyway.

it also probably doesn't help that I had 2 drinks in close succession last night and my current mental health meds REALLY do not play well with alcohol. I'm usually so careful, and I thought 2 would be fine, and sometimes it is, I guess I just drank them too close together. And fuck now I'm crying at my desk at work thank fuck for this high-walled, enclosed cubicle fuck

[sunnibits]

hey psspps my very well qualified gay pirate enjoyers. I need to put my sailor/pirate ocs into Situations, any suggestions?

[gh0st-0f-s0rr0wzz]

i just got a dog tag engraved with the words 'property of oliver' on it at a fucking walmart

[just-jammin]

am bored

here a music rec

[kdrama-movies-more]

Ah God...years back I had hop-skipped a lot of Strong Girl Do Bong-soon from the halfway point and erased half the kidnapper plot from memory....

So the mystery part of Behind Your Touch is like, a jarring mashup of Bong-soon and Beyond Evil🙈 huh???

[yesimwriting]

Midway

a/n a small-ish fic of someone comforting aegon bc i feel bad for him 😭

Summary: You did not choose to be Aegon's wife, and yet you seem to be the only one choosing to be there for him during his recovery.

Warnings/info: forced marriage turned to awkward, subtle pining masquerading as uneasy friendship, vague descriptions of life threatening injuries, canon compliant incest (reader is rhaenyra's daughter)

read part 2 here: A Matter of Timing

----

Hushed whispers, as stale and sterile as the fresh gauze being stretched and pulled taut against his skin. The rasp of his breathing scrapes at the air that manages to pull itself into your own lungs.

"It is..." Alicent stalls, her gaze never leaving her eldest son, "A lot, I know." Her eyes are wide, glossier than you've ever seen them. An odd sort of empathy presses itself against your chest, making a full breath feel like even more of a fantasy.

Your sympathies and courteously vague expressions of understanding and mutual hurt are things Alicent has no use for. She's tolerated you like an inherited dress that doesn't quite fit, only begrudgingly acknowledging you when surrounded by family.

These days, her barely there tolerance for you has grown even weaker, considering the reports your handmaid had delivered to you of Alicent's attempts to convince the council to lock you away after your mother's retaliation to Aegon's coronation. An imprisonment only prevented by Aegon's command.

She lets out a breath, her attention briefly dropping to the ground before settling on you. "But you are his wife."

A fact she's only come to accept because of your blood. As Rhaenyra's daughter, your marriage had been a compromise, a final attempt at merging a divided family before your grandsire's passing. If your mother had known how quickly Aegon's supporters would have pushed him towards the throne...

You nod your head slowly, dismissing thoughts of yourself. For the first time since your union, the context of your arrangement does not cloud all else. "Yes."

There had been no attempts made to gloss over the extent of Aegon's injuries. For once, the heart of the Red Keep prioritized reality over projecting strength and invulnerability. The maesters had warned you, had detailed the damages left behind by the flames and the fall. An attack strong enough to kill a dragon.

"I um...I tried to visit him earlier, when he first returned." The surprise of your own honesty is an afterthought, a barely there thing attempting to occupy the little space left in your mind. "They said he was not yet stable."

Alicent is silent, some distant quality hollowing her stare as she watches the maester. His movements are succinct, precise as he quietly instructs a maid to bring him a salve left on the table. How many times in these last few days has he gone through this process? How many more times will a maester need to dress Aegon's wounds and rebandage him?

"Stable seems relative." Alicent blinks, her attention returning to what's directly in front of her. She turns to face you. "I trust that you'll sit with him, keep him company after the maester is finished."

Aegon's thoughts on your company have shifted several times throughout the short time you've been married. He often goes through periods of indifference followed by fleeting displays of interest that feel eerily close to companionship. Not quite a friendship or a romance, but something warm and comfortable. Mutual glances shared over supper, peaceful moments in the hall, occasionally crawling into the other's beds at night like children that cannot find sleep on their own.

Some skeptical part of you wonders if Alicent's sudden interest in your wifely responsibilities has more to do with punishing you than caring for Aegon. You doubt she considers you some great source of comfort in her son's life. At least you don't mind the thought of staying here, away from prying eyes and whispers that your privileges within the Red Keep should be restricted until the realm is no longer so divided. "Of course."

She nods once. "There--there is much to be decided upon in Aegon's absence." Alicent lets out a rigid breath. Perhaps Alicent really does want to know that someone's with Aegon. "I should go."

"I will keep him company, your grace."

With that, Alicent spares Aegon a final glance before turning to leave. You remain near the entrance of Aegon's bedchambers, far enough away to not impact the maester and his work.

You watch the process openly. Aegon's burns and other injuries are meticulously cleaned, white cloth stained dark as it is dragged against his skin. Salves and balms are lathered onto his wounds, concoctions meant to promote healing and ward off infection. The final step of the process involves the freshly cleaned wound being rebandaged.

The maester works at an expert pace, treating Aegon's body in sections. Before you know it, he's stepping back to assess the results of his efforts. The maester then looks over at you.

You've never been in a position to be responsible over someone so injured. Are you meant to...dismiss him? Approve his work? Ask something? "Is he..." Well seems like a terrible overstatement. You force yourself to take a few steps forward. "How is he?"

He briefly presses his lips together. "Much more stable than he was previously, your grace. I am afraid that I cannot yet predict much about his recovery. As of now, the priority is preventing infection."

You allow your gaze to fall onto Aegon. There's something about the way he's lying there, immobile and broken and smaller than he should be. "Right. Well, thank you."

The maester nods, "It is my honor, your grace."

He begins to gather his supplies before leaving. At the maester's absence, the maid that had been assisting him turns towards you. "Is there anything you need, your grace?"

You briefly consider sending her out for water or asking her to bring you a book you left in your own apartments. A menial task would ensure her return, which would mean you'd have a temporary reprieve from being alone with Aegon like this. "No, I'm alright. You are free to go."

She nods at the dismissal, "Thank you, my queen."

Queen. The title that belongs to your mother in her own right, not as a position inherited towards marriage.

The girl leaves, her quiet footsteps nearly drowned out by Aegon's unsteady breathing. You watch her until she's disappeared through the doorway, and then for awhile longer. When you can no longer justify your silence, you step forward.

Standing so close to the foot of Aegon's bed tugs at something deep inside of you. He is so still, so without defense. Like this, he does not seem like a man desperate to cement his position, or the person you never wished to be bonded to in this way, or even the only one who you allowed to enter your apartments after news of your brother's death arrived at the Red Keep. Now, he only seems like a boy trapped midway between where he lies and death.

Though bandaged and burned, the entirety of Aegon's features have not been destroyed. The shape of his nose, the part of his lips still familiar. His hair had not been a priority, and while the maester did brush it back to work on him, the disheveled strands have fallen forward again.

You move away from his bed's edge with careful steps. Before you can overthink the act, your hand moves to his forehead. As gently as you can will yourself to, you unplaster the hair stuck to the oily salves on his forehead. Your fingers catch themselves on silvery knots. You begin to pick apart the largest tangles as best as you can without a comb.

It's not an easy task, sweat and product cementing the knots into place. "I'd hate it if no one brushed my hair." The words come out on instinct, the desire to justify your proximity the way you would if he was awake. In all honesty, you're not sure if he can hear you.

The process is slow and clumsy, nails separating strands for you to comb through. Up close like this, you can almost pretend that this is restful for him. He still doesn't look well, but from here you can focus on his shut eyes and parted lips. Your hand drifts away from his hairline, fingertips fluttering over bandages and brushing against unmarred skin.

Something awfully sentimental attempts to claw its way up your throat. "I'll go get a comb." You pull your arm away from him. "I'll--I'll be back, I promise."

You take a single step back before turning your back to him. The maester deemed him stable, which means that he will not spontaneously pass if left alone for a moment. You'll only leave to fetch a comb and maybe a book so that you have something to read aloud. He's never loved your novels, but it's the only way you can think to keep him com--

A soft sound, so gentle and brief you could almost convince yourself you imagined it if it wasn't for the distinctness of the word. Your name.

You stall. Perhaps you misheard something else, maybe a stuttering of his breathing or the room settling. You turn.

He remains unchanged--body in the same position it's been in this entire time and eyes still shut. The supposed whisper should be dismissible.

You step forward, voice fragile as you ask, "Aegon?"

For a moment, pressed between the audible strain between his breaths, a faint optimism pulses through you. Weeks of being a bride, a queen of the realm hated by all those around her, and your only form of protection has, ironically, been the man that's bound you to this place.

The hope fluttering in your stomach quickly morphs into something closer to dread. He is not awake. He is not well enough to call for you or any--a shift, a turn of his outstretched hand so small and inconsequential you likely would not have noticed if it was any less needed.

Ignoring the blurring edges of your vision, you move towards his bedside in quick strides. Without thinking, your hand finds his. "I know that this union is not one you entered willingly. I am also aware of the fact that you know I did not ask for this either." You've not often held Aegon's hand, but now you're glad for his tangibility. "But you--you have not been cruel. You've actually been surprisingly patient, even when I have given you reason not to be."

His palm is warm against yours, the familiarity of it strangely assuring. The few times you've laid together for the sake of duty, the heat of Aegon's skin had been one of the few aspects of the process that you were reluctantly drawn to.

"At times, you have been kind..." You blink in an attempt to dismiss the stinging behind your eyes. "Friendly, even." Your hold on him tightens. "And I miss that. I--I miss our friendship."

The grief in your chest is a hybrid thing, made up just as much out of your empathy and fear as it is by your hurt. It's a sensation so dizzying, you nearly pour your panic out to him. You have to bite your tongue to avoid asking him to not leave you alone here.

Tears are beginning to prick the corner of your eyes when you feel his fingers bend around yours. Aegon squeezes your hand with a barely recognizable force.

He's--he's awake. "Aegon?"

His hold on you does not falter as a faint sigh escapes his lips, a midway of his own.

- - - -

a/n not to offer a part 2 to everything i write but i have an idea for a second fic that’s connected to this so if ur interested lmk :)))

[starry-bi-sky]

a half-ghost--? no- no wait, that's a changeling. that's even worse.

so i'd like to preface this by saying this stems from me going entirely off the rails thinking about tales of the passerine-- which is frankly quite on brand for me to think of one au, and then develop it so far left ways that it makes another au entirely.

bUT. Context! Danny's ancestors sometime before they immigrated to America had a fae marry into the family. This had its Side Effects. Naturally. The Fentonnightengale responsible for this charmed a fae thanks to their swagless nature and awkward demeanor, so instead of getting eaten the fae thought it was cute instead. The fae marrying into the family had an affinity for music, but that kinda repressed itself by accident -- blame the salem witch trials.

By the time Danny is born, the fae blood has become so latent that it really doesn't show up anymore other than the Fentons Eccentricity and obsession with the supernatural (a latent desire to return home to the fae realm - aka infinite realms). There's an unnatural charm surrounding the fenton that really only creeps almost every human within a visual radius, and Danny is no exception.

hoWEVEr. the accident that turned danny into a halfa in one timeline did no such thing in this one -- it just reactivated his latent fae blood, and reactivated it with a fervor. Effectively turning Danny from a human into a changeling.

Danny just thinks at first that he's a half-ghost -- only to realize later on from Clockwork that he's not one at all. He's very much fae -- which is a wild discovery for Danny to make. It also means his rogues are quite a bit more intimidated by him. Fae are above ghosts in the Infinite Realm Creature Hierarchy, no matter how powerful they are. A fae can still Steal the name of a ghost, so Danny's rogues are rather skittish/unsure around Danny until they realize he doesn't know he's a changeling -- after that, many of them vow to try and keep it secret amongst themselves.

Danny's 'ghost' form is rather birdlike, and in human form his appearance warps to match his comfortability. When he's alone with his friends he starts taking on unnatural features. -- his blue-green eyes brighten and his pupils elongate, his teeth sharpen, and his ears grow longer and animal-like. His hair softens to be more feathery, his nails sharpen. In general he takes on more 'bird-ish' features. At school, around his parents, and when he's stressed, tense, or scared, he looks completely human -- an instinctual survival mechanism.

As a ghost, he has large, pretty wings that gradient from black to dark purple-blue, with a shimmer across the feathers that resembles the aurora borealis. His limbs elongate, his legs becoming bird-like and his talons grow on both his feet and nails. His ears vaguely resemble a rabbit's, although they don't flop down like one. All his teeth sharpen. Razor sharp chompers, capable of biting through bone. His eyes take on a greenish-hue, but otherwise remain the same color, albeit his sclera becomes blue-ish and his pupils become diamond-shaped and white. Rings of seafoam blue circle around his iris, creating a reflective sheen. He makes chirping, creaking noises, and when he speaks there's a faint overlap that is very enchanting.

Overall he's rather beautiful in a terrifyingly inhuman way, its hard to take your eyes off him. He has a lot of feathers. He's very drawn to singing and music in general, and gets into music sometime after his accident. He likes flutes/ocarinas/woodwinds the most, followed shortly after by strings, and then piano. He also slowly loses the ability to lie -- which is really annoying and also terrifying until he learns how to reword himself and become a better wordsmith.

SInce this stemmed from an older brother dpdc au, its gonna stay an older brother dpdc au alsfh. i'll just get to the dpxdc part in another post since i wanted to get this off my chest first

[moodymisty]

Please please please PLEASE produce some nsfw with female reader Alexis Polux Propaganda. I need some Imperial Fist content.

Author's note: HMNGNGNGGGGG POLUX TIME

Relationships: Alexis Polux/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Size difference, Praise kink, Polux is a good boy™, Rough-ish sex

"I'm surprised to see someone so young here,"

A voice speaks, and you don't entirely realize they're talking to you until they come up on your left side with an expectant look on their face.

"You look a bit too well dressed to be someones servant," You aren't quite a fan of the way he seems to examine you like a painting, but you assume he just isn't familiar with social gatherings. Many of the people in these circles are always examining for weaknesses, valuable information, so the feeling isn't entirely new. You just aren't used to it.

With a soft smile you nod to say hello despite him not giving you the same courtesy, holding your parchment close to your chest.

Your drawings had been going well, documenting the progress of the Palace has been no small feat, and the few picts you've taken will go along will with the various sketches you've been working on.

"Well, I'm usually not on Terra, But right now I'm here on business. Imp-"

The man cuts you off, letting out a noise. You're not sure if he's a commissar out of his regalia or a lord, not that it matters in the end.

"Ohhh! That's surprising."

You wonder why he thinks that.

"You don't seem like a young lady who would be part of the fortifications of the Sol system," It takes a lot in you to keep your place- to not roll your eyes - and just smile and nod.

"Well, looks are deceiving sometimes."

The man smiles and nods, seemingly amused your answer.

"Indeed they are."

You look away from him and over the massive and ornate railing at the view below you, spires and twisting paths of gold weaved between endless construction. Your primarch has been hard at work, and the pict you decide to take will serve as a useful thing to add to your ever growing documentation.

The man looks at you amusingly as you do it, but oddly enough doesn't ask why.

"How long have you been out here all alone?" He looks at you curiously, his chin tilted upward just slightly as he casually crosses his arms.

You think on it for a moment. You aren't meant to be here for the current meeting, it just happens to be going on in tandem to your arrival. You also haven't been alone for most of it, though your guardian- you can't think of any other word to call him, even if guardian doesn't quite fit - has been absent as he left to give orders briefly.

"No more than an hour, I think." The man throws out a hand, gesturing it vaguely in your direction.

"An hour out here? how about you come and get a drink with me? At least take a break and warm up before you come back out here." You politely shake your head and take a step back, still holding your parchments close to your chest.

"Oh, no thank you, I don't have the time to take a break, I'm quite busy."

He waves off your refusal. "Nonsense, have you even been to a Terran gathering? There's plenty of things I'm sure you've never seen before. Have you tried wine?"

You haven't, but your interest to do so is nonexistent under this context. Desires aside, you have work to do; Dorn and his men hold your work to a high bar and won't be fond to see you slacking off.

"I haven't but I really need to get back to my work, or my Pri-"

The man reaches for you hand and while he grasps it gently, the gesture is unwelcome.

You notice two Imperial Fists passing by as you tug your hand out of his own and back away, scowling at him. The closer Fist that passes you by looks at you, and moments later you hear the distinctive crackle of the vox device in his helmet turning on as he continues by. It's a soft sound you've gotten used to, in your time close to astartes.

"Surely your work isn't important enough to not enjoy some company. I am far too bored of the people who only seem to chat because they want something."

Despite his lament seemingly authentic he seems to want something from you, hence his forcefulness. he reaches forward once again to put a hand on your arm and you back away, but you accidentally back yourself between him and the railing- cornering yourself.

"I told you, I am here on business and I am really not interested in-"

You hear something to your left, the thundering of heavy footsteps - and the both of you turn to see the source.

A wide surface of bright yellow armor is what you see, spanning far wider than you and far taller, as well. It makes you overjoyed, you know who he is- while the man looses all the blood in his face at once.

“Let go of her.”

Polux doesn’t need to do much more than speak and the man removes his hand, as now it's suddenly as if you're on fire.

Polux stands in the same realm as the primarchs in height in his armor, and even someone used to being around space marines would find themself more than a bit intimidated by him by just his presence, let alone being the object of his displeasure.

You know he's far kinder than his off-putting visage implies, but both you and Polux are fine with not letting anyone know about it.

"Thank you, Polux."

The man seems surprised by you saying the marine's name so casually, and the way he looks down at you. He looks at you as if he knows you, which given how rare it is for astartes to interact with baseline humans, is more than a bit unusual. His short, cropped blonde hair is stuck to his head in weird ways, after so long underneath his helmet.

You turn to him, fingers flexing around your notebook as you take one side step in Polux's direction.

"I was trying to say I am here on Imperial Fist business. I am one of the remembrancers for The Fists documenting their fortification of Terra." Polux stares at the man, and his neutral face accidentally serves to frighten him more. Despite you knowing the astartes is almost what you would dare consider shy, his stalwart, wrinkled face does not imply that in the slightest.

"And I am quite busy doing so."

The man swallows, playing with his teeth while shifting his jaw nervously.

"Oh I am, so so sorry. I never meant to intrude on Fists business, I was only trying to offer a nice lady a d-" Polux ignores the man; Looking down at you.

"Are you alright?"

You know if you say you aren't Polux will more than likely drag the man somewhere to be punished for his misdeeds. But you're fine, and find the whole idea a bit too time consuming to deal with. It's not as if he did anything horrific, besides being far too pushy and irritating. Given your status as remembrancer mouthing off to someone who might possibly be a high lord wasn't something you can do either, less you risk getting your head rent from your shoulders.

"Yes, I'm ok. Just a little handsy."

Polux only needs to take one look in his direction and gesture, almost as if the man is a wild animal, to dismiss him, and he walks off with a briskness in his step.

Now alone with Polux you soften significantly; While he doesn't do the same visibly, you can tell in his tone of voice and eyes that he is somewhat less aggravated.

You give him a sweet smile, ignoring the chilly breeze penetrating your clothes. He must've gotten the vox that the Fist sent when he walked by, probably knowing a fight was brewing. He looks down at you with that stoic but soft expression.

Even as battle hardened and massive as he is, something about Polux is almost, gentle.

"Thank you so much for saving me, Polux. I needed that."

His face changes just the slightest bit. You don't know why, and you can only assume he finds your thank you thoughtful. You don't imagine he hears the words that often.

Reaching forward he grasps your shoulder with his wide gauntlet, and starts to push you along. You nearly stumble over with how much ground he expects you to cover in one step, almost loosing hold of your parchments.

"We should return to the Eternal Crusader."

When you returned to the ship, it had taken Polux 45 minutes to remove himself from his armor.

Record time; Given his size he wears custom armor that takes more effort- and thus time - to remove.

It had taken only fifteen more to return to his quarters, dragging you along. Once you got there, there was only roughly 40 seconds before the sound of the door locking, and Polux picking you up, and throwing you onto his cot.

Your clothes didn’t survive the minutes after- they became tattered ribbons on the floor as Polux made a strategic path to his target.

He had such a logistical way about it; his bred traits cause him to treat every scenario with stoic and almost taciturn attitude.

He thrusts into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with an embarrassing loudness.

“Thank you for saving me, Alexis,”

The sentence goads him on hitting a deep part of him, and you feel the way he drives his cock even deeper into you. He’s pressing you into the cot, laying on your stomach back arched to present yourself to him. Polux is almost uncomfortably wide at his hips and torso, you can barely spread your thighs enough to allow him close enough, unless he puts your knees by your ears.

“Why must you find yourself in trouble every time I turn away from you,”

You let out a sharp moan as he drives himself into your particularly deep, and the thick base of his cock stretches you even wider.

“It just finds me, I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

He lets out a soft groan and you swear your feel his cock throb inside of you at the praise.

Polux has always had trouble recognizing his own skill among the other Imperial Fists. His skill is never enough, and he always doubts his place as belonging to his late brother. Your words fan a fire inside of him that only fuels with the acknowledgement that he has done his duty to the utmost of perfectionism, and never once faltered.

“More, please more,”

He grunts with effort as his massive forearms cage your body, his hips slapping against your ass. You know you're going to be covered in bruises that you'll have to cover, find excuses for, but you couldn't care less. You nearly squeal as the head of his cock bullies his way deeper inside of you, feeling like it’s at your belly button. His cot isn’t meant for this kind of abuse and creaks unhappily, threatening to crumble under the weight and strength of nearly 400 kilos of muscle and fat.

Why did you have to pick the biggest Imperial Fist that’s ever lived? Polux swallows your entire body in his shadow, and the overwhelming heat he exudes stifles the air with the hot smell of sweat and sex, combined with the odd chemical smell of an Astartes.

In an odd way it’s begun to stir something in you, and at times you at the way your body betrays you and begins to get hot at the worst of times.

Your hands desperately attempt to reach for anything to hold on to, one gripping his forearm and feeling his hair on your palm. You can feel the almost painful tightness in your lower stomach as you get closer and closer, gritting your teeth.

You have to be loud enough that it can be heard in the halls. You dread the idea of the serfs hearing their newest, brightest and shiniest remembrancer getting getting absolutely fucked out of her mind by one of the Imperial Fist's most stalwart and immovable men. But you can’t find the ability to be quiet- not when the Astartes is trying to force his cock impossibly deeper with each thrust as his balls slap against your cunt.

His brow furrows tight as he fucks you like it’s a singular goal, giving no mercy or gentleness.

The painful twisting vice in your stomach finally snaps when you cum, what little strength you had to keep your hips tilted upwards fails. You go nearly limp, and Polux is forced to move a hand to grab your hip and hold you up to continue trying to drive himself closer and closer to your cervix.

The way your soft walls clench around him almost stops the marine dead, and you can hear the hiss he lets out through his teeth.

This is only the third time he’s fucked you, and the first time he’s initiated it. The feeling of nerves and neurons unused being stimulated in such a way is almost overwhelming to him, and he isn’t sure if he enjoys the way his body almost takes control from him in that desperate, primal effort to finish.

He grips your hip tighter and fucks you harder with little regard to your limp and well fucked body, cumming inside of you not a few moments later. Buried to the hilt you feel the hot pooling of cum inside of you, and the way his cock twitches with each spurt.

When he pulls out, you whimper at the feeling of your abused cunt fluttering around nothing, and beads of his cum leaking from you.

You feel the back of your thighs ache in pain, and you’re sure they’ll be bruised wonderfully in a few hours.

“…Are you well?”

Polux says with an almost out of place concern as you lay limp on his cot. You nod and try to turn on your side beneath him.

“I’ll, I’ll be ok.” You don’t know if you will be right away; Your lower stomach aches as your cunt tries to recover from his abuse, and you’re sure sitting down or doing anything strenuous is going to be painful the next few days.

Polux furrows his brow, shifting his thin lips.

“I, do not like how unclear my mind gets during my… time, with you.”

You wish you could explain to him that’s normal, but to a man who’s known nothing but the machinations of a crusade, of standing stalwart and logical in the face of unknowns- desireless - you don’t know if you ever could.

“Do you want me to leave?” You look up at him, and he shakes his head.

“No.”

You attempt to adjust, but the motion puts tension on your aching muscles and causes you to grimace.

“You’re hurt? You lied?” Polux looks at you sternly, and you shake your head.

“I’m just really, sore. And bruised.” Polux shifts and moves to stand, further motivated when you hiss in pain again.

“You need the Medicae.” You quickly speak up. “Would you like to explain to them how you, an Astartes, fucked me so hard I can’t walk, or should I?”

Polux stares at you stone faced, a thinking expression that would be funny, if not for the embarrassment you implied.

“I… I will go to the apothecary and say you injured yourself and need salve.” Polux shifts his jaw, and you can see some of his more shy personality come through. “I will, forgo the details.”

You can’t help but smile a bit before he leaves, watching as the man storms off task at hand, and leaves you to wait.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I don't know if this question will make sense or if it's too vague, but here goes: how do I get my OCs to feel more like blorbos? With my favorite characters from books/movies/etc, I go feral about them, I want to put them in jars and poke them with sticks and see what makes them tick. But with my original writing, I'll have ideas for stories but despite following all the traditional advice for fleshing out character motivation, flaws, etc, I keep finding myself horribly bored with my own characters. This might be too vague to answer because what makes a blorbo for one person won't necessarily be the same thing that makes another person go feral, but I was wondering if you happened to have any thoughts on what keeps my OCs feeling so un-blorbo-ish? Thanks!

"Blorbo-izing" an Original Character

Quick question to start with: have you ever cast your characters with real actors or models, or commissioned an artist to create character art of your character? I feel like it's a fairly common thing for writers to do these days, but I'm still always surprised by the number of writers who don't do this.

I have a post about casting here (Guide: Casting Your Characters) but here I'll just say that, for me, casting or getting character art made is an essential part of "blorbo-izing" my characters. I spend lots of time creating and fleshing out my characters before I ever cast them or have character art made, but they almost never feel completely real to me until I have a visual representation of the character that exists outside of my own head.

Outside of that, I thing it's a really good idea to do some character development exercises that go beyond the scope of your story. Some of my favorites include:

Character Interview - imagine that you’ve pulled your character out of a story into the room and now have the opportunity to interview them. What questions would you ask them? What do you want to know about them that you don’t already know? What do you think the reader would want to know? What might be pertinent to the story that you haven’t thought about yet?

TV Crew follow around - Imagine you’ve dropped an invisible TV crew into your story’s world to follow your character around through an average day (even if it's anachronistic). Follow them from the moment they wake up until the moment they go to bed that night. What are they like when they wake up? What is their morning routine? What do they eat for breakfast? How do they get ready? What do they do throughout the day? Who do they interact with? What else do they eat and drink? What do they do for fun or relaxation? How to they make money or meet their basic needs? What is their bedtime routine like?

Letters or Journal Entries - Look at your character's back story, off-screen events, etc. and find something for your character to write about in a journal entry or a letter to another character. What would they say about this event? How does it make them feel? What do they think about it?

Use Your Character in a Writing Prompt - Look at some writing prompts and do one using your character as the main character. You can keep it within your story's world or plop them into a whole different world. Whatever works for you and your story. This is about getting to know this character in a different context than the events of your story provides.

Create a Character Mood Board/Aesthetic - Mood boards go a long way in mentally fleshing out a character for me. Being able to have a visual representation of their style, their vibe, things that are important to them, etc. really turns them into real people in my mind.

Create a Playlist for Your Character - I think playlists can also be a really great way to mentally flesh out a character in your mind. Sometimes, just having a particular song or a playlist of songs that makes you think of them gives them some dimension they wouldn't otherwise have.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[uovoc]

miscellaneous Scissor Seven stuff that got lost in translation:

Seven's Qi-Controlled Scissors (以气御剪 yǐqìyùjiǎn) is a pun on 以气御剑 yǐqìyùjiàn, the flying sword trope that's popular in xianxia

In season 1, the country of Stan, 斯坦国 Sītǎnguó, was a reference to Albert Einstein (斯坦 sītǎn is the "stein" half of Einstein's name, 爱因斯坦 Àiyīnsītǎn), which is why the Stannians walk around with Einstein decals on their chests. For reasons I have not been able to find, the country's name was changed to 斯特国 Sītèguó from season 2 onward.

Xuanwu (玄武国 Xuánwǔguó) is literally just Mysterious Martial Country

The Zan in Ouyang Zan (欧阳赞) is a reference to "liking" online content (点赞 diǎnzàn) via clicking the 👍 button. His school (赞拳 Zàn Quán) is the "Like" Fist. Hence the upbeat attitude and use of thumbs

The "Blue" (青) in Blue Phoenix (青凤) means, depending on context, green, blue, blue-green, green-black, pale, and/or vaguely natural... ish colors. Accordingly, a lot of his props and SFX are more of a turquoise green than strictly blue