#Armor-Piercing Shell

[sw5w]

Armored Assault Tank

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:46:12

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Naboo #Great Grass Plains #Gallo Mountains #primary laser cannon #AAT #Armored Assault Tank Mk I #control command receiver antennas #top hatch #main cannon elevator #anti-personnel laser cannon #rangefinder #battlefield sensor #power converter #“Bunker Buster” high explosive #armor-piercing shell #standard high-energy shell #short range blaster #nose ram #front hatch #Battle of the Great Grass Plains #Battle of Naboo

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Bittersweet Savior

Gojo x Reader

Getting saved is one of my very guilty pleasure tropes. (If you couldn’t tell) I can and will be writing more of it teehee

Warnings: Profanity, Blood, Descriptions of reader getting their ass absolutely handed to them, Near death experience.

~

SMACK

The last thing you expected when you got sent on this mission with Satoru was to be launched through a wall by your fucking face. But as you blinked your eyes open through the incessant ringing and metallic taste on your tongue willing them to stay closed, you realized that this mission may have been a little (a lot) above your pay grade. The chewing out you were going to give Yaga after this mission might even rivel whatever injury Satoru’s going to tear you a new one for. At this point it seemed like the higher ups were trying to kill you.

You were barely able to stand up on shaky legs and a shitty sense of balance from your clearly concussed mind, but you managed. Alas, you stumbled, hand shooting out to what was left of the decimated wall for balance, as your other hand came up to use your technique. When, again, your body was shoved back in to the pile of rubble you had just climbed from. Your back hit the concrete with a sickening crunch, and a wail left you when you felt pain explode along your shoulder blades and cascade down your back like molten lava. Your head fell back, your neck resting at an odd angle as you sat locked in a world of agony. You tried your best to breath though it, but your chest heaved as you attempted to get your bearings. The next time someone at the school told you to fucking box breathe to cope during missions, was the day you would be put to death for murder.

The curse was seemingly toying with you as it stalked towards you with a sadistic grin, it’s skin a grotesque green with shell like shield formations covering it, It’s armor barely chipping against your prior use of your technique. You gritted your teeth upon realizing Gojo hadn’t returned since the cursed spirit had split you up with it’s multiple copies crowding the man. And if he was having trouble getting through multiple of them, it meant that this was a special grade, and your chances of getting through this one were slim to none.

Your body had become essentially numb to the pain as you backed yourself up the piled of rubble, your hands gripping the concrete as it sliced through your palms. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the crackles of pain shooting off along your spine as you tried to steady your breathing for the second time. Your hand raised as it curled into a fist, focusing your cursed energy into your palm as you let go of your middle and ring finger. Your technique manifested as a slice of wind launched towards the curse, cutting through the ground in its wake as it hurdled its way towards its target. You could hear it howl as it sliced through the air, tearing up the existing rubble and raking up pieces of it with its momentum.

The curse was flung onto its back as it collided with your cursed energy, throwing it across the ground, pieces of concrete and rock chipped at its armor as it was dragged further and further from you. You watched it tumble, rolling over a couple times as it’s hands gripped at the ground in a desperate attempt to slow its speed, despite the blade of wind actively shoving it further. Your technique only stopped when it slammed the cursed spirit into a building, the structure swaying at the impact as a cloud of dust and debris surfaced from the landing. A silence fell over the barren what once was a street, now more of a warzone, but it was short lived as you saw movement from among the cloud. It didn’t take long for the spirit to get up again, and your heart plummeted as you realized how little your technique did to it. It screeched as it got up, the sound piercing your eardrums as you flinched from the jolt of pain it sent through you.

A switch seemed to flip in your mind as you shot up, getting up off the rubble, deciding that it would be better to flee with your life than to try and fight a losing battle. Your palms left bloody handprints on the bits of rock and shale as you scrambled to get off the pile, feet clambering down the pile of blood-stained cement as you pushed yourself off of it, feet hitting solid ground as you broke into a sprint. You stumbled the slightest bit, but righted yourself as you attempted to fend off the violent nausea that plagued your sense of balance and direction. A steady burn started in your lungs as your fatigued body tried to keep up with the added exertion, your feet clapping against the ground as you ran with everything you had left in you.

Adrenaline shot through you when a solid object was thrown into your side, the shrapnel cutting through your hip and throwing you off balance as you were mercilessly thrown to the ground. Your body skidded across the tarmac as the wind was knocked out of you, coming to a stop as you hiccupped, heaving in a futile attempt to get air into your lungs. A grotesque wheezing sound came from you as you tried yet again, the strain in your chest finally letting up as you greedily sucked in mouthfuls of air. A sense of dread settled in the pit that had formed in your stomach, your throat closing up as a sense of panic took hold of you. You didn’t need to look down to know that the freshly made wound in your side was bleeding heavily, you could tell from how cold it felt when the wind brushed against it. You sensed that the absence of pain was due to shock, and that only meant that the injury was severe enough for your body to block it out. Your forehead came to rest on the hard asphalt, your body shaking from the shock your body was put under as you quickly weighed your options.

You assessed your physical state, and you really didn’t need to think too hard as you deduced that you were entirely fucked.

You had essentially accepted your fate by the time you had flipped over, and for a brief moment you wondered how Shoko would react to seeing your corpse in the mortuary. You felt the faintest sense of guilt at that sentiment, maybe if you had defected like Suguru, maybe you’d have been able to spare her the disappointment of seeing another one of her childhood friends exit the Jujutsu world, only this time in a body bag.

SMACK

That thought was quickly interrupted as the curse was kindly launched through a wall by it’s fucking face.

You didn’t even get a chance to process the relief at this development, as you saw a platinum head of hair pop in your vision and a hand come to pull his blindfold off as he stared down at you with those damn near blinding blue eyes of his. A grin spread across his features, a chuckle emanating from him as he looked you over.

“You don’t look so hot, princess.” He remarked slyly.

“Oh yeah, I’m great, thanks for asking.” You wheezed, hand coming to press into your side with a hiss. You flinched at the pressure, beginning to feel the warmth of your own blood flow through the spaces between your fingers. You felt the large divot that that was now engraved in your side, and blinked up at Gojo when you saw his expression falter at the amount of blood beginning to pool around you. His signature smile fell slightly, silently examining you before pivoting around to face the curse head on.

“Just give me a minute to deal with this.” He said softly, and you nodded your head lightly. “Take all the time you need.” You hummed, a soft groan falling out of you as the shock began to wear off. You began to feel the steady thrum of pain throb through your being, squirming slightly as you laid on the ground.

You could hear the shuffle of rubble through the soft ringing in your ears. One second your eyes were on Satoru, and the next he had vanished, you barely had a second to flick your eyes over to the curse as you heard him sprint towards it with frightening speed. You saw his figure practically fly through the air as he cocked his leg back only to swing it at the cursed spirit. With a sickening crack, the curses head flew through the air, splitting it’s armor and leaving a stump in it’s wake. You flinched at the sight, tearing your eyes away as you heard its head roll across the dust scattered road.

You blinked and he was at your side yet again, face unreadable as he directed both of your hands over to your sliced open side. “Keep pressure on it.” He said, eyes flicking over your face as you laughed weakly. “Aww, c’mon don’t be like that, what happened to the cocky Satoru that never takes anything serious?” You joked, wincing as you obeyed his order, forcing your hands harder into your side. You struggled to keep pressure on it as you began to shake, hands trembling as they began to feel sticky from the blood.

“Shut up.” He scoffed, scooping one hand under your legs and another under your shoulders as he hoisted you up. A yell of pain left you at the movement, and his face fell the slightest bit as he adjusted you in his hold. “You’re pale, I’ve gotta get you to Shoko.” He stated softly, voice laced with a twinge of- dare you say- concern? Your laugh came out as more of a weak wheeze, head leaning against his shoulder as you stared up at him. “Yeah, I dunno about you but-“ you sucked in a breath of air, finding it getting harder to breathe as you gritted your teeth. “People usually get pale when they’re bleeding out.” You finished, eyebrows furrowing as a wave of nausea hit you.

A small smirk crept onto his face as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, your figure dipping the slightest bit with the movement. “I wouldn’t know, never bled out before.” He said with a huff. You snickered, shaking your head lightly as laughter wracked through you. A wave of pain hit you immediately after, and you tensed in his hold. “Ugh you’re such a dick.”

Your eyes slipped closed as you rested your head against his chest, feeling your surroundings change as you snapped them open again in surprise. You quickly took note of the beds that took up the room, and your jaw fell in astonishment as you blinked in shock. Your eyes flickered up to him, Brows knitting together in confusion as you realized what he had done. “Did you just-“

He cut you off, cocking a brow as he spoke. “Warp you to the infirmary? You really thought I was going to let you bleed out in the street? Wow, you wound me. Truly I don’t think I could ever recover-“ You cut him off with a soft slap to the chest, the action leaving a bloody handprint on his pristine white shirt. A groan sounding from you as you listen to him ramble about your subsequent betrayal.

“Just set me down and go get Shoko before you’re the one that ends up in a recovery bed.”

#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo angst #gojo satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader fluff #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk angst #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojou satoru x you #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #jjk gojou #gojou x y/n #gojou x you #gojo imagine

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 8

We have finally got to the part that started this whole story. Steve being validated by a professional.

Robin gets a pretty dress. And Eddie gets a little jealous.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

MY TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED!!!!

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

Eddie joined them at the shop just as they were finishing up. Will used the extra ten he had to buy Steve a pretty little dagger that was mostly a letter opener, but Steve fell in love with it.

The dagger was silver with a moon in the hilt, the cross guard had moonstones on either side. It was nestled in a black velvet box that he was told he had to leave the dagger in and not pull it out while at the fair.

Steve promised he wouldn’t and turned around to nearly run right into Eddie.

“Whoa!” Eddie said, putting out his hands to steady Steve. “I didn’t realize I was that close to you.”

Steve blushed. “You get your schedule sorted for tomorrow?”

Eddie grinned. “Sure did, sweet thing. Will get his staff?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so happy,” Steve said with a smile. He jutted his thumb behind him to where Will was happily chatting with the seller.

Eddie peered around Steve to see where he was pointing and sure enough, Will was talking to the guy about magical users in DND and how they should expand it to include other types.

Will spotted Eddie and said goodbye to the seller. He rushed over to where Steve and he were talking.

He held out the staff for Eddie to look at. “What do you think?”

Eddie and Steve shared a fond smile. “It looks great. Will the Wise has finally got a staff worthy of him.”

Will blushed.

“We should put it in Eddie’s van,” Steve suggested, “so it doesn’t get stolen.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “Why my van?”

“Because it won’t fit in my car,” he replied with a blush staining his cheeks and creeping up his ears.

Eddie cackled. “Fair enough, Stevie!” He looked around and spotted Gareth with an arm full of all sorts of wares, from swords and armor, to decorative goblets and boxes that no doubt held jewelry.

“Hey Gare!” he said following an ear piercing whistle.

The younger man lit up and jogged over to the trio.

“Hey, Ed!” Gareth said with a shit eating grin. “You like my haul?”

Eddie shook his head. “Sometimes I think your parents have more money than sense, but I’m not about to begrudge a well plotted haul.”

Gareth grinned. “Oh, they absolutely have more money than sense. I just know how to use that to my advantage.”

Will and Steve laughed with them.

Eddie pulled out his keys. “Since you’re clearly in need to be relieved of your loot or grow three extra arms, you should take Will to stash your stuff for later.”

Will’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s a great idea!”

Steve just shook his head fondly as he watched the two boys walk off chatting about their prizes.

“It’s nice to see Will come out of his shell around new people,” he said to Eddie. “He really needs friends outside of the Party.”

Eddie nodded. “And it helps that I forced them to be read in with Wayne because there was no way I was going to keep a secret that big with the people who are my family.”

They began their stroll through the other stalls, stopping here and there.

Steve spotted a clothing shop and armory and he sided eyed it longingly. There was no way he would the money for anything in that shop. He chewed his bottom lip and was about to move along, when Eddie grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward a black leather cloak.

Steve was admiring the construction when he heard a voice behind him say, “That’s a neat tunic, but you do know that you’re supposed to wear a chain shirt under that specific kind, right?”

Steve turned around to see a buxom red head in a bodice and flowing red dress. Her hair was piled messily on her head, but Steve could tell it was artfully done as the structure seemed too sound to be accidental.

“Can’t afford the see the armorer,” he said with a wink and a half shrug.

She laughed. “I guess I deserved that.”

Eddie smirked.

“I like your tunic,” the red head said, looking Steve up and down. Eddie bristled next to him. “Where did you get it from?”

Steve grinned, placing a comforting hand on Eddie’s elbow. “I made it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No shit. Really?”

“Yes, he did,” Eddie defended. “He’s amazing.”

Steve flushed with pleasure at his praise. “I dabble. I’ve been sewing for about a decade now.”

She walked up to him and admired the stitching on the hem on the tunic. “That’s really impressive.”

“Thanks, I was admiring your work on the construction of the cloak here,” Steve said. “Was it hand sewn?”

“Fuck no!” she said, rolling her eyes. “I wouldn’t have time to breathe if I did that.” She smiled to have him join in on her joke. But when Steve continued looking at her in awe. “Wait...” she said, as it slowly dawned on her. “You did all of this by hand?”

She brought the hem of his tunic up to her face. Steve blushed and Eddie batted her hand away.

“Oi! Don’t get fresh!”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think a name would be a good start before you go and get grabby,” he growled.

“Oh!” she said slapping her forehead. “Right, sorry! I’m Katie. I run Damsel in this Dress. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Steve and this is Eddie,” Steve said.

Eddie looked only slightly mollified and Steve rubbed his lower back soothingly. Eddie preened, leaning into the touch.

Steve cleared his throat. “But anyways, yeah I stitched it all by hand. My parents didn’t think a boy should ‘play’ with a sewing machine.” He put play in air quotes.

Katie’s eyes went wide and she looked back at the tunic hem in her hand. “But it’s so tight and even...”

Eddie grinned. “Isn’t he amazing?”

She looked over at him. “He do yours too?”

Steve shook his head. “No, not his.” He spotted Robin walking by. “But I see someone else’s outfit I worked on.”

“Robin!” he called out.

His soulmate came to a...well stop wouldn’t be quiet accurate as she kept in motion, flailing around a bit trying to regain her balance from her aborted step.

“Steve!” she called back and hurried over to him.

Katie looked her up and down. “You did her costume too?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow at Steve.

Robin grinned. “Hell yeah, he did! He’s awesome!”

Katie looked back and forth between them. “May I look?”

“Oh I know!” Eddie said cheerfully. “Why don’t they try on something of yours so that you can take a look at their costumes without you having to get all handsy.”

Robin raised an eyebrow at Eddie but turned gleefully to Katie. “That sounds like a great compromise.”

Katie cocked her head back and forth. “Could do, I suppose.”

Steve immediately went for the chain shirts, while Robin wandered around some.

“You’d look pretty in one of my corsets,” Katie said waiting for Steve to get out of the tunic to hand it to her.

Robin blushed. “Aren’t they like painful and gross?”

Katie laughed clear and bright. “Not really. For centuries they were the only form of support a women had. Now, there were tight lacing bodices and corsets, but that wouldn’t happen until much later.”

Robin chewed her bottom lip. She really liked the blue dress and the blue and gold corset. “Can I try on those?” She pointed to the ones she liked.

“What’s your bra size?” Katie asked pulling out the right size dress.

“Uh...” Robin said with a blush. “It’s not very...”

Katie nodded. “It’s fine. I think I’ve got the right one for you anyway, but if it’s too tight or too loose let me know and I’ll find a different size.”

Robin nodded and Steve came out of the dressing room to hand her his tunic.

Eddie let out a low whistle. “Looking good, Sir Stephen.”

Steve did a slow turn and both Eddie and Katie gave him appraising glances.

Robin peeked her head out form behind the curtain. “Um...help?”

Katie was immediately by her side. “What’s up?”

Robin walked out with the laces in her hands and corset not tied.

“Oh!” Katie said. “God, the heat must getting to my brain today. Odd’s Botkins!”

She grabbed laces and showed Robin how to lace it properly.

“How does fit?” she asked stepping back to admire her creation on Robin.

Robin grinned. “I never realized how much I slouched until just now.”

“Yeah,” Katie said with a laugh, “I hear that a lot.” She spun Robin around causing the skirt of the dress to billow out like water rippling in the breeze.

“Wow, Robbie,” Steve said in awe. “That’s gorgeous.”

Eddie hummed his agreement. “Looking good, Buckster!”

Robin squeaked and then dashed back into the dressing room. She came back out with the shirt Steve had altered for her.

Katie took the shirt and tunic and laid them both out on the counter where the cash box was.

“It’s literally seamless,” she said in awe. “And you did this by hand?”

Steve nodded. “But I’ve been doing it for years so...” He half shrugged.

“Hey, man,” Eddie huffed, “don’t diminish your awesomeness. This is hell of a job.”

Steve nodded, blush creeping back up on his cheeks again.

“What’s this?” Katie asked, tapping the embroidery on the hems of both pieces. It was a lovely little floral pattern that was off white on Robin’s shirt so that it blended in, but was a striking silver on Steve’s tunic.

Eddie leaned forward. “Oh, I never noticed that before.” He smiled widely at Steve. “It’s cute.”

Steve flushed even deeper, the red now covering his whole face. “It’s a little something I add to all of my designs. It’s a little signature if you will, so you’ll always know I made it.”

“A Harrington pattern?” Robin asked, leaning over to inspect the embroidery, too.

Steve nodded.

“Have you thought about selling your pieces?” Katie asked. “You could be making bank with these.” She lifted up the shirt to emphasize her point.

Steve shrugged. “Sure, but I wouldn’t have any idea where to sell them or who to sell them to.”

“I’ll sell them for you,” she said, “for a cut of the profits, of course. I sell at gaming and comic conventions, Ren fairs, sci-fi and fantasy conventions.”

Steve chewed on his lip. “I don’t make them very quickly. With them being all hand sewn.”

“Which makes it all the more valuable,” Katie insisted. “A hand sewn dress from a major clothing designer would be worth thousands, sweetie.”

Robin mouthed the word ‘thousand’ in shock.

Eddie pounded Steve on the shoulder. “Hell yeah! Just sell a couple of pieces every once in while and you’ll always having spending money.”

Steve thought it over and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Katie and Robin cheered while Eddie and Steve shared a warm smile between them. A smile that sent butterflies through Steve’s chest. Eddie was always there for him.

Always.

Katie pulled out a business card. “Give me a call when you’ve got pieces you want to sell. And don’t leave off that signature either. Your Harrington Pattern as your friend called it.”

Steve took the card frowning. “But won’t that make it harder to sell? Especially the male stuff?”

She shook her head. “The people that buy this sort of thing are the last people that would care about a floral design, particularly since it would make it more authentic.”

He blinked and mouthed ‘oh’. She was right. “Yeah okay.” He lifted the card. “Thanks for this. I guess Robin and I better go change out of these so you can have them back.”

Katie shook her head. “Think of them as an investment in Steve Harrington’s clothing venture.” She lit up and dashed over to the cloaks. She grabbed the leather one that Eddie had been admiring and held it out to him.

“For you too.”

Eddie blinked, he wanted to turn it down and would have, had Steve not taken it and draped it on his shoulders.

The inside had a soft almost fur like material that was a slate grey. It would be too hot to wear in the summer, but in winter he would be outright toasty in it.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was thanking her or Steve, but it didn’t really matter. He was grateful to both. He looked up at Robin.

“You’ll probably want to change out of yours, Robbie,” he said, carefully removing the cloak and draping it over his arm.

“Why’s that?” she asked with a pout.

A grin took over Eddie’s face. The mischievous one that always sent a lance of heat in Steve’s gut every time he saw it. “Because you’ll want to look rocking for the joust tomorrow.”

Katie grinned too. “That is an excellent idea, good sir!”

Robin seemed to agree because she grabbed her shirt and dashed back into the dressing room.

Steve was surprised she remembered the shirt, if he was honest.

Katie and Eddie helped him get the tunic over the chain shirt without snagging the cloth on the metal.

Robin came out mere seconds later with her prizes clutched to her chest.

“Thank you!” she squealed. “I can’t wait to wear it tomorrow!”

They all went to the parking lot to put away Eddie and Robin’s prizes. The cloak in the van, and the dress and corset in the trunk of Steve’s car.

Steve was grinning from ear to ear and couldn’t stop.

****

Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Damsel in This Dress is an actual Ren Faire staple from where I'm from.

Yup, still on my Gareth lives in Loch Nora agenda.

And while I don't ship Will/Gareth Will needs friends who aren't trauma bonded, you know?

MY TAG LIST FOR THIS STORY IS CLOSED!!!

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1@zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss @croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv @dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #steve is a history nerd

[moonlightsolo]

yawnyewla | broken-hearted

summary: the tipani clan, located deeply hidden in the jungle, the people are perhaps the fiercest warriors amongst the extrasolar moon— and you are one of them. you’re an indigenous na’vi, who has recently wedded her best friend, eyturi— but all in one day, everything you’ve ever loved is snatched right out of your hands. on a leisurely flight with your mate, you’re ambushed by the rda, and separated from your ikran and eyturi, causing you to free fall into the jungle below you, right into omatikaya territory; the one place you do not want to be.

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!na’vi reader

warnings: mention of character death, blood, violence, injury, arguing, overall sadness :’( #sorry

note: i’m starting anotha series for y’all <3 u better read it and leave feedback my ego is starving

the bond between a na’vi and their ikran is unlike any other. never to bond with another na’vi, they are like a swapxì- a family member.

to fly is to be free; to be free is to be connected to the all mothers spirit. 

the wind flows through your hair, and the beads that adorn your braids rustle from the gust. you let out an ecstatic laugh, leaning back with your arms extended away from you; mimicking the wings of the bird beneath you. 

your gaze drifts over to your companion soaring beside you, the wide smile on your face mirrors the expression of your mate— eyturi, that is. 

the tipani warrior has been your best friend since the beginning of time. once you both became of age, the na’vi man swooped in to court you before any other man could. resulting in him bonding with you alongside eywa—making him your lifelong mate. 

you have never been happier in your life.

eyturi points at the floating mountain you’re growing closer to. he sends a wink your way as his ikran gains speed to cut in front of you, soaring directly under a waterfall cascading off the island. 

his ikran flaps it’s large striped wings, sending a mist of water directly over your head. the coolness of the liquid chills your heated skin, but you gasp from the shock of it nonetheless. 

your mate peers down at you from above, cackling as he holds his stomach from his laughter. your eyebrows knit in the middle with a determined smirk, “you will pay for that!” your grip tightens on the reins as you fly upwards to him. 

his eyes gawk at your beauty as you ascend in the air, a proud grin on his chiseled face. even knowing you his entire life, your beauty is still extraordinary to him. 

you admire his armor, made from the shell of the mighty txursum, “are you just going to sit there and stare, ma tìyawn?” he questions sassily with the nickname that makes your knees go weak. 

just as you’re about to respond with a witty comeback, something dark emerges from behind one of the islands in the sky. your bloodstream runs cold— the sky demons, they’re here. 

eyturi notices the change in your demeanor, following your gaze to the target that has taken your attention away from him. the sound of the powerful engines of the aircraft grows louder as it barrels toward the both of you. 

“we must fight!” he shouts, “eyturi! it is too dangerous!” you cry out in distress, “we must for our people! for pandora!” he hollers and yips, as he pumps his weapon into the air and takes off toward the gunship. 

you let out a vicious hiss directed at him, “aaah!” frustrated with him from not listening to you. you reach behind your back to slide your bow in front of you before taking off to follow him. 

“yi-yi-yi-yiaah!” you cry out piercingly, eyes squinted menancingly. 

eyturi swoops in upside down over the top of the gunship, taking out the passenger pilot with an arrow. 

his ikran glides down the side of the ship, and disappears behind the side of the mountain to dodge the bullets flying at him. he appears over top of the rocky side, sending another arrow at the sky demon. it hits the one wielding the side gun and pierces the demon right in the chest. 

you soar right on his tail, eyes peering into the inside of the ship as another sky demon replaces the dead one. the gun cocks as it reloads, his finger freely presses against the trigger to send multiple rounds at the two of you.

eyturi circles the plane, dodging one of the engines as the pilots attempts to squash him into the rocky side of a mountain. he’s thrown off guard by the sudden movement, twirling around the ship to the other side. 

you dodge the fire coming from the other side of the ship, twirling and darting through the air frantically.

the ship takes its attention off of you as eyturì bolts beside it with his bow loaded with an arrow. you spin your ikran around to head back and help him, but it’s too late. 

a dreamwalker reloads another round into the gun, the loud click rings in your ears. a devilish smirk is plastered on their face as he the bullets fly right into the chest of eyturì. 

“no! no, no, no!” you cry out in pain as your eyes witness each bullet tear through his torso. his cold eyes trail over to you as he slips off the side of his ikran, breaking the bond with his animal. you let out another heart wrenching shriek as his body tumbles into the jungle below. 

the banshee beneath you whines from your shared pain, screeching and chittering. hot angry tears stream down your cheeks, the droplets smear the red and black war paint drawn onto your skin. 

before you’re able to properly mourn, the ship turns to beeline straight towards you, “come on, keyè! we have to go!” you sob at your banshee. she squaks and darts the opposite way. 

the whirring engines grow closer, and you can hear the shouting of a foreign language coming from demon bird. you drop down under the floating mountains, skimming the tops of the clouds. you swivel your waist to turn around while keeping your knees forward. 

plucking your last arrow from the sack hanging on your shoulder, you notch it into place against the string. sucking in a sharp fearful breath when the gun points downward at you from above. 

it’s now or never— you let out a guttural, bloodcurdling scream as the gun unloads rapid fire shots at you, and the arrow is released from your grip. 

keyè barrel rolls in the sky in order to take the full damage of the bullets to protect you, using her own body as a shield. your throat releases another pained howl as your sister is shot, feeling the burning pain inside of your own chest. 

the banshee releases the bond with you as she plunges toward the ground, “no! keyè!” you cry out after her, scrambling in the air as you free fall 

an explosion lights up the sky above you, sending a wave of heat over your descending body. your eyes stare in shock as the fireball engulfs the side of the mountain, sending shrapnel and debris down to chase you. 

you did it— you hit the engine…

the air whips beside your ears powerfully as your body is helplessly pulled to the ground. you must try your hardest to focus on grabbing the branches, it’s your only hope, but it’s harder than it seems. 

once you pass the treeline, your body is repeatedly striked by splintering wood as you tumble through the branches. your hands scramble to grip onto something to soften your blow, but you’re falling too fast. 

panic ensues when your brain quickly realizes you failed to break the fall. the ground is suddenly closer than it seemed, and your body slams into the ground with a loud crack, landing on your side atop of a log. 

your lungs punch out a pained wheeze, and a raspy sob. your sight fades in and out, but you can see the firey debris barreling towards you. 

with a loud shout, you slide your weak body off the side of the log, landing in a bed of plush grass with another painful thud. it’s a pain you’ve never felt before; it’s blinding, and inconsolable. 

you’re gasping for air as the pain sizzles at your nerve-endings, obliterating your muscles and bones. the debris from the ship lands beside you, barely missing your body— but somehow, you don’t seem to care if you were to be impaled. 

you can feel your consciousness slipping away from you, “eywa… please let me die a warriors death. let me join eyturi…” you manage to shakily murmur before you succumb to the darkness. the grip on the grass loosens as your hands fall limp 

—

“come on! we shouldn’t be out this far! dad is going to have us by our necks!” kiri whines in protest, but still continues to follow her brother and her human friend through the foliage.

“bro, we have to…” lo’ak’s voice fades as he steps a foot over a log. his eyes spot the familiar blue skin of a na’vi laying asleep in the small clearing of grass. you’re surrounded by shards of metal from the gunship that exploded, the one their dad specifically told them to stear clear of.

“dude… is that a na’vi?” spider mumbles from behind him, almost in shock as he looks over his two friends anxiously. 

lo’ak creeps forward slowly until he is fully over the log. the boy approaches your body apprehensively, his head twisting as he examines you, “no lo’ak!” kiri hisses at him, “you have to call it in to dad!” 

the sully boy squats down to your level, leaning forward to get a closer look. he admires the spiked hard-shelled armor that is formed to your shoulder, and travels across your chestpiece. he takes note of the striped paint that is now slightly smeared over your body. 

“i’ve never seen her before. she is definitely not one of us…” one of his hands reach out to press on a point under your jaw to seek out your pulse. 

“wait- she’s alive!” he calls out, his round eyes dart over the two standing off to the side. his other hand rises to his throat, pressing on his comm device to activate it. “dad, we found a girl… not one of us, but she’s hurt.” 

“is she alive?” his father answers, jake sully, the olo’eyktan of the omatikaya clan. 

“barely.” lo’ak huffs as he monitors your breathing. 

“where are you?” jake sully questions with a harsh tone. 

lo’ak shakes his head and takes a deep breath before replying, “just outside of camp… in the forest.. under hallelujah mountains.” lo’ak murmurs, his ears droop when his dad sighs in his ear. from obvious disappointment of lo’ak not listening to his previous orders to stay out of the area.

“wait, father! i’m close to his location, i’ll go.” lo’ak’s older brother, neteyam, joins in on the conversation. 

“alright, boy. go, and bring them all back to camp.” jake mumbles, and the conversation is cut. 

lo’ak’s shoulders slouch in annoyance as he stands up, “neteyam is coming.” he grumbles as he keeps his eyes trained on you.

kiri and spider decide since you’re unconscious, it should be safe enough to join lo’ak in the clearing with your body, “the paint… i’ve never seen anything like it. what clan is she from?”

“i don’t know, but i know she doesn’t look like you guys.” spider laughs almost nervously, and scratches the back of his head. 

kiri is squatted down beside you, one hand perched in the grass between her legs to steady herself. she leans forward, almost nose to nose with you as she admires the art on your skin. 

“and the armor. we don’t have anything like this.” her fingertips gently pokes at one of the spikes protruding from the shoulder plate. 

the loud flaps of a creatures wings stir up the brush of the forest, indicating neteyam has arrived. lo’ak is leaning against the trunk of a tree, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for his brother to come to the rescue. 

neteyam sully, the eldest of the sully siblings. (otherwise known as the golden boy and the mighty warrior) he swiftly lands the ikran in the vegetation beside the clearing, leaping off of his animal to jaunt over to the others. 

he stops in his tracks as he absorbs the scene in front of him, “for some reason, i didn’t actually think you were being serious.” he stifles a chuckle in his throat as he takes a few steps toward you. 

he leans over, placing his hands on his knees as he analyzes your face, “she’s pretty beaten up. are you sure she is alive?” he asks as he slides himself between you and kiri. 

“yeah, bro. she’s alive. i checked.” lo’ak rolls his eyes, and unsheathes his knife to play with the tip of the blade in his fingers. 

neteyam continues to reach down to seek out your pulse to double-check his brothers work. the faint beating of your heart pumps against his index finger, “alright… okay.” he huffs out as he nervously talks to himself. he bends down fully, experimentally shaking at your shoulder to see if you were somehow just asleep. 

he admires your face for a moment, glancing over your skin and a cut that cuts into your cheekbone and through your eyebrow. you seem as if you’re around his age, so you must have made iknimaya… so where is your ikran?

when he tries for the third time, your eyes continue to stay shut. he decides to pick you up, and he slides an arm under your knees. his other arm supports the back of your neck and shoulders as he hoists you into up with a grunt, “i’m heading back to camp. you guys need to get out of here, we don’t know if there’s any thing else out here.” 

“fine.” lo’ak bites back, and storms away in the direction where he left his ikran. kiri gives neteyam a sympathetic look as she passes him, and spider nervously eyes you in his arms as he follows close to kiri. 

neteyam sighs into the warm air before making his way back to his ikran. the animal chitters softly, which causes your muscles to flinch in his hold. he stops in his tracks to look over your body, making sure you’re really unconscious before climbing onto the saddle. 

once you’re laid in his lap, one of his hands wrap around the leather string of the reins, “come on, let’s go home.” he mumbles to the animal, making its wings expand to take off. the banshee flaps his wings to gain momentum as it ascends into the sky, breaching the tree-line as it travels farther into the blue sky. 

the ikran coasts through the air, drifting around other floating islands as she makes her way back home. 

the feeling of cool air whipping past your face makes you smile, but it’s soon turned into a grimace from the pain that awakens inside of your body. you let out a soft groan as you wiggle against something sturdy, yet still soft underneath you. 

your eyes flutter open, instantaneously blinded by the brightness of the sky. maybe, you’re still falling to your demise, or maybe you’re still riding on keyè… through your blurry vision, a pair of round amber-colored eyes meets yours; a male na’vi, but you can’t make out their identity. is it eyturi?

“it’s okay. i’m going to help you.. stay with me!” his deep voice is soothing to you, but it rings deafeningly in your ears.

with the last bit of your strength, you raise your hand to cup his cheek, “ma muntxatan…” your voice croaks out. 

neteyam freezes from the nickname, shocked to his core. something flutters in his abdomen as he takes in what just happened— you called him your husband, your mate.. he almost catches a smile on your paled lips before the darkness clouds your vision, and your body goes limp in his arms once again. 

“ah shit- come on, tawmi. let’s go! yah!” he shakes the reins, urging the ikran to go faster. 

the high camp is located in a cave system that is only accessible to ikran’s through a crevasse in the rocky floor. the animal lands inside with a loud screech, alarming the people that neteyam has arrived with you. 

his father, the olo’eyktan, is standing off to the side speaking to a group of na’vi before turning his attention to the arrival of his son. 

“neteyam!” he shouts out as he strides over to the boy who is already walking up to him. his eyes look over the badly bruised and cut up body in his arms, “woah… okay. gimme her. we gotta get her to norm.” he opens his arms for neteyam to transfer you over to him. 

you whine in your sleep from the pain of being moved, which makes jake rush off even quicker towards the med bay. 

neteyam strides just as quick on his fathers heels, taking a step back when you’re laid down in an empty cot. “norm! over here!” he calls his friend over who rushes to your side with his modern equipment. 

the sully boy stands off to the side, his worried eyes taking in every little thing. he grimaces at the needle being stuck in the crook of your arm, and watches when medicine is pushed through the tube connected to you. 

jake works on unlatching your constricting armor pieces, which reveals even more deep bruising and cuts. norm is handed a retractable tablet from another na’vi, that opens up into a handheld x-ray machine. he scans over your body once you’re rid of your armor, examining your bones that show up on the screen. 

“her top left ribs are definitely broken, and i don’t see any internal bleeding. she just took a nasty fall. most likely has a concussion…” he puts down the x-ray to open your eyelids and shine a light into them, “but no obvious signs of brain injury.” 

“what can you do for her?” neteyam steps forward, his eyes flitting between his father and norm. 

“wrap it and ice it. give her some pain meds and hope for the best.” norm replies as he glances at jake. 

neteyam sighs in disappointment, wishing there was something else he could do for you; for some reason, there’s a little voice inside of his head urging him to protect you. 

“neteyam, go find your brother and sister. make sure they get home safe, ‘kay? your grandmother is coming, so we got this handled here.” jake shoos his son outside of the medical tent. 

the boys tail flicks out of his frustration and his ears flatten on the side of his head. he doesn’t understand why he is forced to go seek out lo’ak, kiri, and spider. they were the ones stupid enough to not listen, and he knows they’ll make it back on their own. 

the boy huffs and turns on his heel to walk out of the medical area. on the way back to his ikran, neteyam runs into his mother and grandmother walking together towards the tent, “mother!” he calls out and jogs to meet her halfway. 

“oh, neteyam.” she looks over her son for any injury before telling the tsahìk to continue on, “what is this girl that i am hearing about?” 

“lo’ak found her in the forest with kiri and spider,” his mother hisses at that sentence, obviously angry from her youngest son disobeying orders, “i was already scouting nearby, so i went to help him. she’s alive, but barely.” he shakes his head stressfully, running a hand over his face. 

“maitan…” she hushes her son, and places her hands on his shoulders, “who is she?”

“i don’t know. she is from a different clan, but she’s wounded, mother.” neteyam gulps anxiously. 

“your grandmother is a skilled tsahìk, she will heal her in no time-.” neytiri is cut off by a loud guttural scream coming from the med bay. 

neteyam and his mother rush back toward the tent, the sound of crashing metal and screaming worsens as they get closer. 

“hey, hey! calm down! we’re not going to hurt you!” jake sully has his hands up in the air as surrender, his eyes widening as he dodges another flying object aimed at his head. 

“you must calm down! be quiet!” mo’at yells at you from the side of your bed, but her voice falls upon deaf ears. 

“no! you are dreamwalker! a sky demon! get away from me! leave!” your voice screeches loudly as you chuck another item at norm’s avatar, “go! get outta here!” jake screams at his friend, who practically shits his pants and sprints out of the tent past neteyam. 

neteyam and his mother watch from the archway in shock from your feral demeanor. 

you leap up from your spot on the cot, squatting like a rabid animal as your wild eyes search for your weapons, “where am i? where are my things?!” you shriek. 

“bring me back to my people!” you grasp a fallen bowl from the tsahìks healing ritual to use as a weapon. you eyes dart over the people around you, chest heaving with exertion with your arm raised; ready to bash anyone in the head with the stone bowl who dares to come near you. 

then you see him. the bright-eyed boy from your dream, the one who saved you. 

the memories from before whirl back into your brain, sending a wave of nausea over your body, and the adrenaline is sucked from your body. your mate, your ikran… 

your balance falters slightly from your legs trembling under your weight. you topple back onto the bed with a sob, rolling onto your side as you painfully weep, “no, no… eyturi…. keyè…”

everything you have ever known has been torn apart in the span of a few hours— now to you your life is meaningless. why must eywa bring you back to pandora? why couldn’t she grant you a warriors death like you prayed for? 

neteyam watches as his grandmother pricks a sharp object at your skin, which somehow sedates you for the time being. your cries slowly fade away as you’re overtaken by sleep; he will never question the tsahìks ways, but it always confuses him. 

neytiri rushes to her husbands side to make sure jake is okay, checking him over as she angrily scolds him. 

neteyam takes a step inside the chaotically strewn room, minding his step as he weaves through the various pieces of equipment that litter the floor. 

“she is hurting very deeply. she has suffered a great loss, neteyam.” his grandmother softly breathes out as her watchful eyes gaze over your sleeping body. 

“what happened?” he pries slightly, eyeing his grandmother through his peripherals. 

“i do not know, but she is mournful. she needs guidance to seek her lost spirit.” she murmurs. 

neteyam watches how your muscles twitch as you come back to reality. how your nose scrunches up when you softly sniffle, and your body that begins to writhe on the rough fabric of the cot. 

you hiss, weakly baring your sharp fangs at the intimidating na’vi that surround you. then your eyes are back on his. 

the hardened expression on your face softens when you see him, turning glossy as more tears fall from your eyes. 

“i’m the olo’eyktan of omatikaya. i swear to you, that we are only trying to help.” he steps forward with his palms facing you, a sign of peace. 

“om-omatikaya..?” you answer as if you’re confused, “you are toruk makto?” you question with a wince. 

“yes, toruk makto!” jake exclaims with a grin, “that’s me.”

“i must to go back to my people.” you wheeze out as you grasp at your side, pawing at the darkened spot on your ribs. 

“you have to heal yourself first. we can do that here, but we need you to cooperate- to trust us.” jake steps toward you hesitantly. the memory of  how you were throwing things at his head still replays in his mind. 

“how will i trust you if i’m surrounded by dreamwalkers and demons?!” you hiss, which makes you grimace and your breath hitch from the pain. 

“they’re our friends. they’re not bad people.” jake tries to reason with you, but he’s met with an angry growl. 

“the tipani do not trust them. we do not engage in any sort of relationship with them.” your voice grows softer before you let out a hoarse cough. 

“the tipani..” neytiri speaks up as she steps forward, sliding around her husbands back to stand in front of him. 

“your people are great warriors…” her strong voice fades out as her mind works to put everything together— the armor, the paint, and the healed scars that litter your blue skin, “known to be the fiercest hunters.” 

you smile from her words, a genuine grin as your eyes flutter back over to the sully boy in the doorway. neteyam feels his chest heat up from your eyes on his, but he pushes the feelings down just as quick.

your body goes lax as you’re suddenly consumed by sleep, eyes fluttering shut. another symptom of whatever his grandmother pricked at your skin. 

“we must let her rest. everybody leave her here with me, i will take care of her.” mo’at looks over your resting body from beside your bed, but nobody makes any movement to leave.

“now! leave!” her voice demands, making everyone scatter out of the room like mice. 

“neteyam, one moment.” she calls to her grandson, making him stop in his tracks to turn her way.

“i see that she trusts you, more than any of us. once she awakens, you must look after her. to make sure she doesn’t…” her hands motion to the mess in the room, “…do this again.” 

neteyam sharply inhales through his nose and curtly nods at the tsahìk, “of course, grandmother.” 

“good. now go to your parents, i need to finish here.” she pats his upper arm as he passes her. 

neteyam walks out of the hut, glancing back one last time to peer at your sleeping form. the boy sucks in a worried breath before disappearing around the corner. 

his legs take him towards home, to his family’s hut in the middle of the camp. when he nears the entrance, he can hear his parents arguing, but it’s more like a disagreement than anything.

movement over to the side startles him, making him squint at the darkness beside the hut. he spots his siblings off to side eavesdropping, “neteyam!” his little sister tuk whispers harshly and motions with her hand for him to come. 

neteyam’s forehead crinkles in confusion as his eyes dart from his siblings and then to his parents inside. neteyam almost falls to the ground when his father abruptly looks his way, but he rolls to the side out of sight. 

small hands belonging to tuk attempt to help him up as he stands to his feet, “you okay?” kiri whispers from behind the little girl.

“yeah, yeah. i just hope he didn’t see me.” his voice is quiet as he breathes heavily. he boldly peeks around the side of the hut to look inside, only to see his parents are still busy talking to each other. 

“jake! my mother, the tsahìk, knows what she is doing! you should trust her!” neytiri hisses at her husband. 

“honey, i do trust her! it’s just that i don’t think we should be harboring this.. this girl. we should give her back to her people, to her clan! they’re going to come looking for her!” jakes voice raises, making his wife snarl in annoyance. 

“you do not listen!” her strong voice rumbles as she paces, “she is hurt, ma jake! she needs us—the omatikaya…” she speaks more softly to him, “we don’t even know where her clan is. they disappeared when those demons returned.” 

neteyam listens closely to his parents conversation with his eyebrows knitted together. 

he wonders why his father wishes for you to leave; maybe it’s because of your behavior, and how you threw multiple objects at his head. he knows his dad is protective, especially when it comes to his family. 

“let’s find neteyam. see how he feels about it.” he hears his dad speak out his name. his ears flatten and his eyes dart frantically over his siblings, “go, bro! or they’ll find us too!” lo’ak ushers him quietly from behind kiri, before stepping up and pushing him forward into the opening. 

just before jake starts to walk out of the hut, neteyam strides inside like he wasn’t just listening to their conversation. 

“um- everything okay? do i need to leave?” he questions stupidly as he busies himself to rummage for fruit in a basket. 

“yes, maite.. everything is okay. your father just wants to ask you something.” his mother speaks with her arms crossed over her chest, obvious frustration on her features. 

the woman motions with her head for jake to continue.

“your mother and i were talking about the girl your brother found, and i’m not entirely sure if it’s safe to keep her here.” jake stands tall with his hands on his hips, his eyes nervously dart between his wife and son. 

“well, grandmother seems to trust her.” neteyam points out, which makes his mother puff of a small bit of air through her nostrils— almost as if she is amused with his answer. 

her eyes stare daggers into the side of his fathers face, which just makes neteyam mentally laugh, “and she put me in charge of her once she is awake.” he takes a bite of the fruit in his hand.

both of his parents swiftly turn their heads to look at him with wide eyes, “she, what?” his mother is the first to speak. 

“she told me that the girl trusts me or something… i’m not sure.” he trails off as he chews, and crosses his arms over his chest as he looks over his parents. 

“well, if the tsahìk says so…” neytiri sharply eyes jake from her peripherals, “then your duty is to look after her.” neytiri curtly nods at her son, but jake let’s out an exhale. 

“do you think her people will come looking after her? will she put us in danger?” his father continues. 

“it may be a possibility, but she’s hurt, sir. you even saw that. she’s badly injured, and we can’t let one of our own out there by herself in that condition.” neteyam tries to calm his dad’s worries, but it seems to send him into a spiral. 

“do you think she had anything to do with that explosion earlier?” jake continues to ask questions, and neytiri scowls and slaps her hands down on her thighs out of annoyance. 

something clicks in his brain, as if a lightbulb turned on and shined a light over the subject, “yes, possibly… when i was bringing her back here, she said something to me about a mate, and then she passed out… again…” neteyam’s eyes look off to the side as his mind works through every scenario.

“because if she had something to do with it, that means the rda are getting closer to us and-.” jakes rambling is cut off by neteyam’s voice. 

“look… father, i’ll speak to her and see what i can get without upsetting her too much, and whatever i hear i’ll bring directly back to you.” neteyam nods softly, and stands up straighter with his shoulders pushed back. 

“okay, boy. yeah, that’s a good idea.” jake rubs his temples with one of his hands over his forehead, “go get some rest, i’ll go find your siblings. it’s gettin’ late and we all need some sleep…” 

jake takes a step towards the exit, and suddenly the group appears around the corner. all three of them yawn in sync as they shuffle inside as if they weren’t just eavesdropping. neteyam sees right through their facade, trying his hardest not to laugh at them.

tuk walks up to neytiri, while the other two tiredly wave and scurry into the pods that branch off from the main living area. 

neteyam takes that as a cue to head to bed to avoid any more questions from his parents. 

all he can think about is you— how badly wounded you are, and the cuts and bruises that litter your skin. he prays to eywa that his grandmother works her magic to heal you. he feels torn between whether to help heal his father’s mind, or to help you… 

the boy tosses and turns throughout his sleep, unable to find a comfortable position— or maybe it’s just his restless mind. he can’t stop thinking about how the previous events of the day played out, and he can’t stop picturing you in his head. 

he swiftly sits up out of his hammock and presses his feet to the floor; he must go see you. the sully boy silently sneaks out of his pod, and creeps toward the exit. he pushes back the drapes of fabric to duck beneath them, stepping outside. 

he takes a sharp breath of fresh air as he slithers throughout the silent village, but when he grows closer to the med bay he hears muffled sobs. 

neteyam peeks past the entrance, only his eyes visible if you would look his way. the first thing he spots is your back faced towards him, and notices that your entire torso is wrapped in a white bandage. you’ve been stripped of your jewelry and armor; the gauze covers your entire chest, even your breasts. 

his grandmother must’ve sedated you enough to allow norm to wrap you up— he wishes he could have seen your reaction when norm came back, oh to be a fly on the wall. he makes a mental note to ask him about it later. 

the light in the tent is dim, casting a golden hue over your trembling body. his own heart tugs at the sight before him, wishing he could go up and comfort you— but he doesn’t want to scare you. you have obviously been through a lot. 

neteyam takes a step back from the entrance, but runs right into a pile of crates stacked behind him. he attempts to rebalance himself, but his legs trip up and sends him hurtling towards the ground. 

your soft sniffles halt, the sound of the cot squeaks under your weight as you move, “who is there?” your shaky voice calls out. 

the boy sighs loudly, mentally cursing himself for being so clumsy. he pushes himself up from the ground to stand to his feet, his ears droop in embarrassment as he rounds the corner. 

you’re now sat up in the bed, with one arm wrapped around your side, gripping the spot where the pain thumps at your ribs. 

your fierce gaze softens when you see the omatikaya boy, “oh… it’s you.” you breathe out as your eyes examine his stature in front of you, “what are you doing here?” 

neteyam clears his throat and stands awkwardly in the doorway, “i’m just making sure you’re okay, but i seemed to have- uh.. gotten lost back there and tripped.” he admits with a chuckle, and scratches the back of his head as he glances to the side. 

your eyes can’t help but run up the expanse of his lean body when his arm raises, admiring how the skin stretches taught over his chiseled muscles. your eyes are quick to dart away from him when his eyes turn to you. quickly, you lay back down in the bed from your sat up position, letting out a pained breath as you lower your back to the cot.

your eyes stare up at the weaved ceiling, tracing each fiber that interlopes with each other, “i’m fine, but i appreciate you for coming to check on me.” your voice bites back in response. 

he takes a few more hesitant steps toward you until he is an arm length away from the bed. his eyes look over the smeared paint on your skin, and the multiple cuts that seemed to have been stitched intricately.

“do you need anything?” he asks softly, his eyes run down your torso before worriedly settling on your face. 

your eyes shift to stare at him, an unreadable expression on your features. you’re unsure why this boy cares for you so much— you are a stranger, an intruder to the omatikayan people. 

“i wouldn’t mind a blanket…” your soft voice breaks the silence as your eyes refuse to acknowledge your request. 

a grin breaks out on neteyam’s face and he curtly nods.

his round eyes search over the room, before spotting the corner of a brightly colored knit fabric. he scurried over to the other side of the room to pull the blanket out of a container, not caring as the lid tumbles to the floor. 

neteyam hurries back over to you, and your hands outstretch to recieve it. he tsks, and shakes his head, “no, no. you need to rest. let me.” he hushes as he carefully drapes the fabric over your lower half and torso, and tucks it underneath your arms. 

he can see the tip of your tail wiggling underneath, which almost makes him chuckle. “there ya go.” he grin proudly for himself as he looks up at you. 

a soft flit of light flickers over your expression, which fills his chest with hope that you’re warming up to him— but it disappears just as fast, and your eyes return to the ceiling. 

“thanks.” your voice exhales out. 

“of course,” he clears his throat before continuing, “if you need anything else, i’ll be back in the morning.” 

you almost let out a laugh at his words, but you stop yourself. you wonder why is this boy so kind to you; you’ve done nothing, but try to attack his people, and insult everyone in the room. you decide to hum and nod in response, instead of laughing. 

you have absolutely no energy to speak to him, mentally and physically. your thoughts are consumed by memories of eyutiri, keyè, and the events that led to your life falling apart before your eyes. 

neteyam takes your silence as a cue to leave, giving you a soft tight-lipped smile— which you, unfortunately, don’t pay any mind to. he turns on his heel, and ducks under the entrance.

it feels as if his mind is even more clouded than before he decided to check up on you. he assumed coming here would help, but it seemed to do the opposite. 

somehow, neteyam feels even more determined to break down your hard exterior; to make you feel at home, to help you along your healing journey, and to finally get to the roots of what happened to you.

he wants to know everything.

-

tags: @rannjlkttrt @mazzycherub @lilly12lesry

#neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar twow #neteyam x reader #avatar #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x oc #neteyam sully x you #neteyam sully x na’vi reader #neteyam sully x na’vi!reader #neteyam sully x omaticaya!reader #avatar neteyam #neteyam sully smut #neteyam sully series #neteyam sully fluff #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #lo’ak sully #jake sully #neytiri #kiri sully #tuk sully #avatar x reader #avatar x you #avatar x y/n #avatar x na’vi!reader

[shiyorin]

Do Dreadnoughts dream of taking a bath?

#Inspired by PowerWash x Warhammer 40K and Roco.

#I love Dreadnought.

"Do Dreadnoughts dream?"

That is a question with no certain answer. On one hand, a Dreadnought is more machine than man, neural implants fuse mind to machine in ways bizarre to comprehend. Their armored carapace shelters only remnants of flesh, sustained through bionic might alone. By all rights, their cerebral cortex should have decayed long ago.

By such logic, one could argue conscious thought ends where flesh yields to steel. Sleep and its dreamscapes are biological realities, are they not? With only trace humanity remaining, why expect mental functions of slumber? But integrated into their armored shells are enough enhanced organs and neural implants to sustain bioniorganic functions far beyond mere biological viability. Isn't the nature of dream itself stems from biological instincts overwritten.

The pain was a dull ache, easily ignored after centuries entombed. But a new irritation assailed him now, crawling itches across flesh long denied sensation. Confusion, this body felt change, though it had lain inert as worlds turned. Deeper still came the oppression, lungs seizing as if drowning once more in bloody. 

What trickery was this? Diagnostics reported stasis, all systems firing true. Yet the discomforts grew, phlegmy coughs racking the half-machine beast. Panic swelled, animal instincts long dormant rising within the eternal tomb. Then light, piercing the darkness behind closing lids. Sweet air rushed into ruined lungs, this labor easing at last. 

His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar realm. No armored bulk rose before him but limbs scoured by shrapnel and burned by virus-bombs. His original form, given once more against all reason, a gift or curse, he knew not. Unfettered he stood, wounds healed to bare scars across taut flesh. This was a dream, or something. 

An uncertainty gripped him. What madness was this? To be returned to old flesh but feel no urge to battle, no call to crusade? A different impulse arose, foreign but ingrained, cleansing ritual performed eons past in youth. He walked uncertain, waters calling him to rites unseen by any in aeons untold. 

Ribs still bore flecks of ceramite and plasteel patched within living shell. He paused before the waters, studying form that had known only warfare. Scars told their own tales, each etched upon memories kept alive through aeons in stasis. With care he entered in that, waters lapping old wounds as if in benediction. 

There he lingered, letting cares and pains wash freely away. Muscles long locked in adamantium relaxed, tension fleeing in steam rising. For the first time in memory untold, no demands of duty or flesh assailed him. A feeling swelled within him, emotion locked beyond reach of mortal sensation. Peace, serenity swept over ancient minds as waters sloughed away cares of ages...

Pain pulsed through his battered form as consciousness returned. The fleeting peace of dreams melted away, centuries of enforced half-life onboard the Dreadnought crashing back upon ancient shoulders. Systems booted sluggishly, sensors recalibrating after solaris of monotony disturbed. 

A hum escaped grille as servos whirred back to their duties securing crumpled flesh deeper than mortal sight could pierce. Outside clangs and grinding announced the diligent ministrations of tech-priests ensuring their perpetual charge clung yet to shadow of function. One voice carried clearly through armored carapace:

"Vitals stabilize in sector C-12 Magos. Neural links firing within tolerances." The Tech-priest's voice rang through microphones.

"Understood. Continue maintenance protocols and monitor for anomalies. This relic has served faithfully many centuries. Pray for the Omnissiah." The Magos's bionics buzzed in compliance. They ensured history marched on, whatever hulls preserved that march.

With effort, aged vox-grille creaked open. "Brother, I was dreaming." Static laced speech imparted by cobbled augmetics mere palliates for ravaged throat too ruined for basic sounds. The Techmarine's etheric sensors detected words nonetheless.

A static pause preceded Techmarine's reply. "Dreaming? Impossible, your neural engrams show only baseline activity."

Mirthless chuckle issued from loudspeakers. "Impossible, yes, But I dream... I'm taking a bath." 

Silence answered as Techmarine puzzled over the incomprehensible scene. "The priests scrub your plating clean as monthly rite. Perhaps some synapse misfired."

Silence reigned for moments uncounted as ritual continued outside. Then, a final whisper from within. "Indeed. A... nice dream." 

With that, consciousness fell back into lowest-level rest as painkillers suffused systems. The Techmarine watched monitors return to quiescent patterns, then signaled to close the Dreadnought once more. Its machine spirit's notions were beyond his. The armored tomb closed, and darkness reigned once more.

#shiyorin's writer #warhammer 40k #dreadnought

[noaasanctuaries]

I've finally found my knight in shining armor 😍

The emperor helmet snail (Cassis madagascariensis) is the largest helmet species and also one of the largest gastropods in the world. It is most famously known for its ornate shell resembling a medieval knight's helmet. Found in sandy bottoms of the tropical Western Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico, and Caribbean Sea, they often bury themselves during the day and emerge to hunt at night. They use a long, flexible, tube-like structure (proboscis) to pierce and feed on the soft tissues of echinoderms such as sea stars, sea urchins, and sand dollars.

📸: Karen Neely (2023 Get Into Your Sanctuary Photo Contest submission)

#EarthIsBlue #MarineLife #Ocean #FunFact

[spacebarbarianweird]

Damage Received

It's Astarion x Tiriel centered but there is something interesting for Alethaine's fans!

Synopsis: Tiriel was reckless and got severely wounded. Astarion is taking care of her.

Tags: protective Astarion, visions of the future

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

“Tiriel, watch out!” Astarion calls out for his beloved.

But she doesn’t hear him. 

Her eyes glow with orange light, and her body is tense—there is nothing but primal rage in her mind right now. 

She swings her two-handed ax and jumps on the enemy, a disgusting ankheg, an insectoid creature Astarion and Tiriel have been tasked to kill. 

Tiriel yells but her blade barely scratches the chitin shell. Its claw knocks Tiriel  on the ground and in a second the half-elf’s body is squeezed between the pliers.

Astarion hears the sound of broken bones and smells the scent of blood.

Tiriel’s blood.

“NO!” Astarion leaves his ambush. He doesn’t care if his armor is made of leather or if his daggers aren’t a match for the ankheg’s claws. 

He won’t let it kill Tiriel.

The monster notices its other enemy, growls, and throws Tiriel away like a broken doll. The woman is smashed against a cave wall and falls on the dirty ground.

“Ig-nis!” fire appears on the tips of his fingers. A small fireball burns the creature’s face. It’s not enough to hurt it—but it’s enough to distract the insect and make it dig under the ground.

Astarion wastes no time and rushes to Tiriel.

Somehow she is still conscious. Her face is pale and her eyes are unfocused.

“Tiriel, we are leaving!” he grabs her hand but she doesn’t move.

“What? No…We can’t…” She can barely speak, her tongue is twisted. 

“We go! Now!” Astarion knocks the ax out of her hands and grabs Tiriel’s waist. Thanks to his vampiric strength, he can easily carry her on his shoulder as if she were his captive.

The ground below them shudders and, before Astarion manages to jump on the cave wall, the ankheg breaks out of the ground.

Tiriel, still in a rage, grabs her ax, swings it, and…

The creature pierces her with his claw.

Blood gushes out of her throat. Her eyes stop glowing, and her ax falls to the ground. The insectoid tosses her lifeless body away but, instead of attacking Astarion, disappears under the ground.

It didn’t see him.

Astarion approaches Tiriel. She lies in the pool of her own blood, eyes wide open in shock and pain. Her stomach is turned into a disgusting red mash and her skin is white as if she was a vampire herself.

“Tiriel…” he whispers.

Her gaze is absolutely mindless, she whispers something with her smashed lips. 

Astarion suppresses the desire to hug her, to press her against his chest. All the bones in her body are probably broken. 

He is going to hurt her even more.

Gods…

He can’t lose her.

Not now, not ever.

“Tiriel… please… don’t… don’t leave me,” he kisses her cheek. “Please…”

Hours later, Astarion sits inside the tent and watches Tiriel. She is all heavily bandaged and he made her drink all the healing potions they were saving “just in case”. 

What is worse, they are in the middle of nowhere—no clerics who could perform a ritual, no healers, not anyone.

They are all alone.

The scent of her blood makes him sick—it awakens something carnal in him and he has to suppress it. 

“Tiriel,” he whispers, hoping she would respond to him.

If she makes it, he will never let her fight alone. He will never hide in the shadows, tricking the enemy into believing there is no second fighter. 

if she…

Astarion should have ascended. To the hells with all those spawns, to the hells with the cycle of abuse. If he had ascended, Tiriel wouldn’t have lied there, wounded and dying. She would have lived a life of comfort with him like she deserved and she wouldn’t have suffered. hells, he could have made her a vampire - and…

He shakes his head.

What is he even thinking about? Tirel would have never forgiven him for ascending. She would have dumped him on the spot. And even he had managed to subdue her… 

Tiriel would have never loved him. She would have preferred death to imprisonment in the castle. 

It was the right choice back then. Tiriel was so sure he wasn’t a villain that he eventually believed in that, too. Astarion was always wondering how she managed to see his real self, buried and hidden. Where did she take that faith, that love, that… tenderness from?

Freedom and love come with a price. 

if she is going to die, he can’t save her. 

**

Tiriel is floating.

She can’t feel her body - but she is grateful for this numbness for she knows the alternative is pain.

The primal rage has already stepped back making Tiriel hollow. She remembers Astarion’s cry, his pleadings. “Please, be alive, please, make it!” he sounded so hurt, so miserable–she wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be alright.

Tiriel has never been a devotee—stuck between two worlds, she’s felt abandoned by both elven and human gods. People of the Sunset Mountains believe the souls feast with their ancestors. Elves believe their souls go to Arvandor for reincarnation. But what happens to half-elves? 

Tiriel can’t go to reverie, her soul is new, it doesn’t have past reincarnations–and she will never have one. Will her ancestors welcome her in their savage paradise? Tiriel is sure they won’t. Besides, she doesn’t want to feast with them. 

So what will happen to her?

Where will her soul go?

And Astarion… What will happen to him?

Tiriel suddenly realizes she is standing in a beautiful hall with a huge window.

An elven castle.

Tiriel doesn’t need to look closely to know who built this place and who lives there.

Elves.

A place of magical beauty–ancient and new at the same time. 

Tiriel notices she isn’t alone.

An elven woman with  waist-length and silver hair sits by the table with a red-haired girl on her lap. The woman’s dress is pitch black and her hair crowns a delicate tiara–Tiriel immediately knows she is a nobility, etriel, maybe even a queen if this place is a kingdom. 

She holds her daughter gently but there is a menace coming from her. This elven lady knows dark secrets and she will rip anyone apart if anyone dares to threaten her little girl.

Tiriel’s heart aches. But who is she jealous of? Of the woman? Or of the girl?

“... Who was this tiefling?” the girl asks in Elven and her mother gently touches her ears.

“He is my friend. Theris.”

“You said you would stab him!”

“Hm, maybe friends is the wrong word,” the woman answers lazily. “We are… cousins.”

“But he is a tiefling! And you are an elf! Like me and Dad!”

Tiriel approaches them. The girl is adorable—like any elven child. It’s difficult to say how old she is, but Tiriel thinks she is about six. Her red hair is the color of fire and her pale skin is scattered with freckles. Her huge green eyes look at the world without fear.

As for her mother….

She could have been Astarion’s sister.

Silver hair. Pointy ears of the same perfect shape. The shape  of her nose, the same pale skin. The eyes are different though, raven black, matching the dress.

She has three rings on her elegant fingers and none of them are elven—all blood red, more suitable for a vampire lady or a dark witch.

“I am a dhampir, Tiri,” the woman says and bares her fangs.” Do elves have fangs like that?”

Tiri giggles and touches her mother’s canines. The woman makes a playful movement as if trying to bite her which makes the girl laugh even louder.

“Let’s carry you to bed.”

“I had a dream today.”

“Oh, and what was that?”

“I was flying on a dragon across the Trackless Sea.”

“Well, maybe you saw your own future,” The woman kisses her daughter’s cheek and carries her away from the hall.

Tiriel wants to follow them but instead, she is mesmerized by the decorations of the castle. Elves do know beauty.

Soon she hears light footsteps. The elf is back. She stretches her arms like a lazy cat. 

The first rays of the sun pierce through the window. The woman puts her face in the light and smiles.

Like Astarion would do when he was immune to the sun.

The elf opens her arms and takes a step forward.

And starts dancing.

She dances in complete silence almost making no sound with her bare feet. Her black dress resembles shadows over her pale body. There is something weird about her movements—they are elegant and vibrant and, at the same time, there is something off with them, as if she was a resurrected ghoul.

She is alive and undead at the same time.

Old and young.

A girl and a hag.

A witch and a queen.

Tiriel can’t take her eyes off her.

The dhampir keeps moving closer to the balcony. Tiriel follows her and now she finally can stop staring.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance, Alethaine,'' a soft voice breaks the silence. A man with long blond hair and in green traveling clothes sits on a bench. His boots are covered with dirt and there are leaves in his hair.

A familiar, a lynx, lies under the bench.

“I have many talents, salen thiramin,” Alethaine answers in Common. “Though the last time I danced was two centuries ago. At the ball of those arrogant human nobles.”

“I thought you liked them.”

“It was nice enough to live up to my standards—but all these humans withered and died faster than I learned their names, Elren.”

Alethaine returns to the floor and sits near the bench. Elren intertwines his fingers in her hair.

Alethaine doesn’t move, allowing her thiramin to do whatever he wants.

“I am going to leave the isle for a few months. I have no fucking idea what Theris did and why he remembered my existence—but I am too curious not to learn”

“Hm, never knew your half-dead heart could show compassion towards other dhampirs,” he chuckles.

“Nonsense, Elren. We are like the grandchildren of that human king who made a hundred children within his pathetic human life, lived up to a century, and once he died his grandchildren started a war to get the throne. We don’t like each other, we miss the years when we thought we were the only ones and we both have a parent whose life was ruined by a pathetic cunt of a vampire lord.”

Elren takes Alethaine’s hand and kisses her fingers. It’s a weird mix of passion and chastity and Tiriel finally realizes she probably shouldn't be staring at someone else's private life.

“You are a much better person than you think, Alethaine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. I am a dhampir and a necromancer. It’s already a moral effort not to curse the sacred groves. Those druids are so obnoxious! I am the queen of this island and your wife and they refuse to let me in!” She laughs.

“Well, I think you would turn upside down any druid who would dare go to your dungeons. Besides, I thought you hated druidic magic.”

“Hm, I am three hundred and twenty years old. I am way past hating anyone. Well, except for anyone who prays to Lathander—I have personal issues with ‘the enemy of the undead’”.

Elren laughs and starts listing things his wife and queen has ever claimed to hate which forces her to offer sarcastic remarks to all of them.

“I’d like to add more points to your list. When I was ten, some unnamed asshole killed the kitten I wanted to foster and forced me to awaken my necromantic abilities. When I was fourteen, a bandit attacked me in the hills and my brain temporarily shut down, for I dined on his blood like a vampire. And let’s not forget the fucking blood witch whose eye I took with my father’s Sussur dagger”

The image blurs and the voices echo as if from a distance. 

Suddenly, Alethaine turns her head and stares at the half-elf as if she could see her.

There is longing in her eyes. Sadness. Long-dried tears. 

“I wish she were here,” Alethaine says.

“Who?” Elren replies.

“My mother.”

Tiriel wakes up.

She is in a dark room under a thick blanket. All her body hurts, and she can barely move.

And there is a familiar coldness close by.

“As-tarion”

The voice is so weak he barely hears it.

“Water.”

Tiriel’s eyes are wide open. “P-please.”

Astarion snatches a bottle, lifts Tiriel’s head up, and pours a little bit of water into her mouth.

“Tiriel… gods…” Astarion mutters. 

“Don’t—don’t cry,” she whispers. 

He collapses back near the bed. Tiriel makes an effort to sit up and sees she is wearing a very thin tunic, almost transparent.

Astarion is silent and then he looks at her and she sees anger.

“Tiriel, I will outlive you. I will witness your death regardless. Why do you insist on accelerating the natural process?”

“I am more than fine in battle,” Tiriel gets stubborn.

Asatrion jumps on his feet

“You are not! Look what this monster did to you!”

“I am fine!”

“Yes! Thanks to my skills I opened up a chest deep down the cave and there were healing potions! What if I hadn't found them? What if… “ his shoulders shudder and he sniffs.

Triel feels a knot in her stomach. 

She was reckless. She didn’t think about anything except for her rage, just like she did all her life.

But the thing is…

She isn’t alone anymore.

Love is a new concept for her. Family, care—she has never had it. No one cared for her, a strong and fierce barbarian woman. And she never cared for anyone. if she bled—she bled alone. And if she was about to die, it was only her business.

But not anymore.

Tiriel makes an effort to sit up but the moment she does it a sharp pain pierces her body and she whimpers quietly.

Astarion immediately returns to her side. “Don’t move.”

He puts his head on her chest and Tiriel caresses his hair.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I am sorry I scared you. I am so sorry.”

He nuzzles into her collarbone. “I can’t lose you, Tiriel,” he confesses. “I can’t lose you. Not  now.”

“And you won’t,” She kisses his bite mark and then puts her palm in the center of his back scars. Before, those parts of his body used to be forbidden for her touch, but, as time progressed, Astarion began wanting her to touch him there.

“I had a weird dream,” Tiriel whispers. “There was a woman… an elf…and she was dancing...” Tiriel suddenly realizes she doesn’t remember much. Only a blurry vision. 

The witch-queen of Evermeet.

Tirlel lets her mind wander, not making any unnecessary movement or sound—she wants to allow Astarion to concentrate on her even breath and heartbeat. To be here for him. One day she will die. One day she will leave the material plane.

She doesn’t need to hurry.

**

Astarion finally relaxes. She is alive. She made it. Of course, she did! This impossible woman can withstand so many things—he shouldn’t have worried in the first place.

Right now he is in her arms, stealing her body heat and listening to the best sound in the world—Tiriel’s heartbeat. 

All these long days he was caring for her. Doing all the work as if he were a healer. 

He pulls on a thick blanket and bundles himself up. The air around him immediately becomes hot and Astarion feels himself like a kitten in its mother’s paws.

Astarion buries his nose in Tiriel’s chest—he doesn't need to breathe so he can just enjoy the warmth.

Terrible memories still haunt him even though five years were more than enough to collect good ones. But it's still a lottery if it is going to be one more nightmare when he needs to rest.

It’s neither.

He is in the cozy tavern, warm and dark. It’s a blizzard behind its walls. Even Astarion, who usually doesn’t care about the cold, wouldn’t dare to go outside.

There is only one person inside except for the innkeeper. 

An elf sits at the table engrossed in a book. She wears black traveling clothes, her silver hair flowing along her back. 

Sometimes, Astarion remembers, elves see glimpses of the future, something that’s already been decided but has not happened yet. It’s the first time for  Astarion and he concentrates on this new experience.

The elven woman in front of him tries to look menacing but Astarion immediately notices she is rather young, maybe only seventy-year-old. The book she reads is just some tooth-rotting romance young elves love so much. The drink in her mug is something really sweet.

Suddenly the door swings open, letting in the frosty air. The elf gives the stranger a scornful glance and goes back to reading.

“Alethaine!” the stranger, a young human in her fifties bellows. “What the fuck are you doing here?! We told you to get out.”

“I am sorry, are you talking to me?”Alethaine asks. 

“I don’t see any other dhampirs around here!”

Alethaine points at the mirror. “Since when do creatures like me and you don’t have reflections?”

The woman bares her fangs. “Don’t make me angry, necromancer. I told you to get out”

The elf shrugs. “Hm, don’t recall. You were yelling a lot of profanities and I stopped listening once you got repetitive. I think you should meet my father. He can teach you how to use verbal insults. Oh, I am sorry, I forgot. You have issues with vampire fathers. Unlike me.”

“ENOUGH!” The human dhampir stands up and raises her hand up to the ceiling. Astarion sees how the blood on her fingertips starts swirling resembling thin ribbons. 

Blood magic.

Astarion is afraid, although it’s not real. Blood magic is deadly, unnatural even for vampires. 

Alethaine flips the page. 

“I DEMAND A DUEL!”

“For fuck’s sake,” Alethaine says. “Do you really have nothing to do except for hunting me in the mountains?” She stands up and Astarion is ready to see a ray of necrotic damage bursting out of her hands.

Instead, Alethaine snatches a dagger from her belt and throws it at the witch right in her eye. 

The witch screams as blood floods her face. Alethaine approaches her and pulls the blade out of her empty socket.

“My eye! Elven bitch!”

“Now listen to me carefully,” Alethaine kneels in front of her wiping the dagger. "My father taught me to stab first and not to ask stupid questions like 'Who goes there’, ‘What do you want’, ‘Why do you hate me”. I don’t fucking care what your coven is up to. I don’t want your secrets, your cult, your gold. I just want you to leave me alone. And if you,” Alethaine returns to the table, “stand in my way once again, I will take your second eye.”

As if nothing happened, Alethaine sits back and picks up the book. The blood witch disappears in the blizzard.

Astarion tries to take a better look at Alethaine, but the vision gets blurry, disappearing in the fog of time.

Unlike Tiriel who remembers the vision of a dancing “witch-queen”, Astarion’s dream fades away the moment he opens his eyes.

But the name is engraved in his mind to be put to use years later.

When Astarion holds his newborn daughter for the first time.

--

Alethaine refers to the events taken place in The Dead, the Half-Dead and the Undead and The Monster

--

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-alll @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #alethaine ancunin #astarion being a dad #dadstarion #astarion fluff #spacebarbarian fics #astarion ancunin #astarion baldurs gate #astarion brainrot #astarion fanfic #tiriel of the sunset mountains #tiriel the barbarian #astarion x tiriel #oc tav: tiriel #dhampirs of the sword's coast #astarion hurt #meet the dhampirs #astarion's daughter #astarion's daughter alethaine #baldur's gate

[kit-williams]

Venom of Venus

I think I might write anything Yandere Black Templar I'll probably give it a Powerwolf song title

Hey... ya'll want another Yandere Black Templar? But with that Civilian Darling? Still attempting to make the darling a nameless reader insert

Expect canon typical violence and religious overtones

They would have to fall back. Brother Roland could hear it in the chatter as his position was being flooded by some nameless xeno foe. He glanced to the ammo boxes as his throat tightened at the thought... they wouldn't send her back out here again. Brother Roland was certain that she would heed his warning. The planet was struggling by the time the Crusade fleet had made the unexpected exit from the warp. The Champion had seemingly recieved a holy vision of these people needing their help and they were so desperate for the salvation that the Black Templars would bring. But, they would make sure the populace was not a complacent populace... they would earn their victory. They were certainly pleased by how many civilians stayed back to try and help stem the tide.

"Brother Roland!" Her voice pierced the fog that flooded the trench as he watched this poor woman laidened with three heavy bolter ammo boxes. His Bäckerin with hands far more suited for kneeding dough than carrying around the heavy ammo boxes. Her feet were unsteady as she nearly collapsed under the weight as she clearly ran here. She was so unuse to the heavy flak armor on her and much less the weight of the ammo.

"Bäckerin, I told you to not come back." He speaks with no anger in his voice far more annoyance but his hearts fluttered with pride at the little civilian woman who stayed behind for all these months. How she was the source of a comfort for Roland; a distraction? He did not see it as such as the God Emperor's wrath and will can flood into the lowliest of mortals and it was clear in the way she always looked at him that there was that spark that the God Emperor bestows upon his followers. Her spark burned hot for her small frame just as his spark was a roaring bonfire in comparison but it was no less impressive.

"And-" She gulps down air as her limbs tremble from her effort; the rations barely keeping her physically fit enough, she wasn't trained for the front lines so she was in no shape for what she was doing, "I... I told you... I still owe you a loaf of bread. You-" Another gulp of air, "Can't die before then." She looks up and smiles before covering her ears as he fires his boltgun in rapid succession.

"Go little Bäckerin this is no place for you anymore." He could see her nod and start to run back the way she came.

She didn't get very far before her scream caused his head to snap over and time slowed to a crawl as one of the xenos had rushed over and was bearing down on his Bäckerin. To her... her life was flashing before her very eyes as the horror of the alien was upon her. But what happened next was so fast as a black blur slamed into the far to many jointed limbs. A thank you bubbled in her throat but it died as her face was pressed into the rough cloth over his armor, she was caged under him as the world shook around her.

She was screaming as she covered her ears and hot tears were running down her face. It wore a suicide switch and the sudden "shelling" wasn't helping but he prayed to the God Emperor trying to soothe his Bäckerin, his voice roughly coming through his vox as he tried to drown out the noises with his prayers.

"I'm sorry Roland I'm so sorry!" She bluthered as the stress of it all got to her and of course she was but a mortal... he understood she was scared. She was a campfire to his bonfire but he would make sure her flame did not go out even if it flickered. She could feel the way he gently pet her head as he switched to his internal vox and updated his superiors that he was alive after that.

"Bäckerin, meine liebster Bäckerin. Das hast du so gut gemacht, bitte keine Tränen mehr." Roland cooed at her, remembering when she asked to hear his mother language and the way her eyes lit up at the way he spoke. How enamored she was when he said his prayers in this tongue. How he watched her open her eyes and look at him, how her pretty eyes glistened with tears still. "There's meine Bäckerin." He said with his chest rumbling but he picked her up and dirt fell off of his back. The trench was ruined.

"You should get out of here my Lord." She said wiping her eyes, "I can run and make noise to-" She spoke as he started to mag lock ammo to his belt and body.

"Bäckerin," He said in a tone that made her flinch, "if that thought ends with you trying to sacrfice yourself." She couldn't stop the whimper as she could feel his overwhelming presence.

"I'll just sl-" She managed to whimper out before he fully turned to face her.

"Bäckerin." He hissed out and of course she crumpled.

"I'm sorry my lord please forgive me." She squeaks out before he picks her up and starts to run toward the fall back point.

"I can forgive you if you remember that your duty is not that of a martyr besides you have teased me with the prospect of having some fresh bread for months. You will not deny me that."

She let out a soft laugh as he carried her so easily but the lightheartedness died as Roland had to whip out his bolter and fire back at the skittering xenos. He could feel her grab his rosary, grabbing the large golden aquilia and starting to pray as the fog was unnatural and created by them and she could see them in the fog.

He knew no fear but he could worry. He worried for his Bäckerin. "Bäckerin tell me again what you're going to do after you survive this and the xenos are gone!" He demands trying to distract her.

"I'm going to open my bakery back up and I'm going to finally get married and have babies, so many babies!" She screeches out that final part as out of the fog one of them jump and he back hands it so hard that the sickening crunching noise will never leave her. "Oh by the God Emperor I'm so sorry I put it off!" She just sobs as she just is so stressed and scared she can't help but sob as she prays and confesses her perceived transgressions.

"I'll give them to you Bäckerin. As many as you want." He pants out but his promise falls upon her deaf ears. "It's why I can't leave you behind. How can I give you what you want!" He doesn't know why he says such things to her. But the thought of her... under him... the thought of making good on his promises to her gives him a boost to his running making him run faster. The smell of her blood hits him as she squeezed his aquilia so tightly it cut her palm as she is just praying so fervently that he can't stop himself from shouting his own prayers. His third lung fills up as he pushes himself harder. They have to survive how else can he give her what she desires and deserves. To be full of his babies! He won't tell her how he's wanted her since she gave him that first loaf of bread. How her soft smile and devotion is what brought him so much joy.

Her devotion to the God Emperor, her devotion to her planet and people, and most of all her devotion to him. Why else would she come out risking her life if she did not care?! Oh he'll kill so many xenos for her. He can see the way she presses her face against his armor to try and hide her tears and to hide her face from the wind that stings her face from how fast he runs. He ignores her pleas to be left behind to stop being dead weight. She's never a burden in fact she tries so hard... for a baseline human she tries so hard.

He's already made up his mind if she survives it's by the will of the God Emperor and his to have! He'll make her so heavy and happy! As his little Bäckerin makes daily bread. All according to the will of the God Emperor.

All of it.

#warhammer 40k #Yandere #Yandere Space Marine #Black Templar #x reader #Bäckerin #Brother Roland #Space Marine #Yandere Black Templar

[momojedi]

Why I am hated in the Star Wars fandom

**

type. drabble note. based on this ... I'll apologise. warnings. violence, gore, murder, mentions of death word count. 407

star wars masterlist || pinned post

Crimson streams traced a path down his battered face, each droplet a testament to the violence inflicted upon him. His body, a canvas of purple and black bruises, struggled for breath, clinging desperately to the fragile thread of existence. In the midst of it, his eyes remained on Omega, the sole motivation to ward off the approaching darkness.

Omega's senses dulled to the chaos around her, her focus laser-sharp on the fallen figure of Hunter, battered and on the brink of oblivion. Lingering effects of the stormtrooper's taser coursed through her veins, leaving her disoriented and numb.

"Hunter," her voice cracked, tears welling in her eyes, "please, get up." His response was but a faint flicker, his gaze, once warm, now broken and exhausted. Omega's heart shattered. This wasn't the Hunter she cherished, not the man, the father, she wanted to remember. "Hunter, fucking get up!"

But he remained unmoved. Omega's desperation swelled within her, a primal scream trapped in her throat, unable to break free.

Tech-no, not Tech. The figure clad in black armor was a stranger, a twisted echo of her brother. It wasn't Tech who inflicted this agony upon them, who pursued Crosshair and nearly drowned him in the process, who tore her from the safety of her brothers' embrace during the Empire's raid on Pabu. And it wasn't Tech now, aiming the blaster at Hunter's vulnerable form.

It was CX-2.

"Please stop," she pleaded, her voice finding strength amidst the turmoil. "Please, don't do this!" As CX-2 turned to meet her gaze, Omega's resolve wavered. The face she once trusted, who used to spend night after night explaining the Batch’s battle plans and strategies to her until she fell asleep against his shoulder, now twisted by a blind loyalty to a cruel cause, sent fissures through her resolve.

Omega knew her words alone were futile. With a final, desperate cry, she repeated, "Hunter, please, get up!"

For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, a glimmer of hope igniting within Omega's body. But when his lips curved into a familiar smile, she faltered and suddenly, tears blurred her vision. She recognized that smile.

"It will be okay," it whispered, echoing in her mind. "You'll manage, you always have. I love you. Goodbye."

A single shot shattered the silence, ripping Hunter from their midst. In his place stood Tech's hollow shell, smoke curling from the barrel of his blaster. Omega's anguished scream pierced the air.

#star wars #the bad batch #clone wars #bad batch #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #tbb #star wars clone wars #star wars the bad batch #my writing #clone sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter #hunter bad batch #hunter #tbb hunter #omega tbb #the bad batch omega #omega bad batch #tbb omega #tech bad batch #clone trooper tech #tech #tbb tech #omega #cx 2 #angst writing

[dandylovesturtles]

Raph and Leo trick or treat

Uhhhh this one is breaking the rules but I had an idea and no one asked for Leo and Raph trick, so here we go.

CW: death (of OCs, no major characters), violence (not particularly graphic)

———

Just seconds ago they were watching a movie together. Leo got up, said he wanted more tea. Raph offered to get it for him, because Leo still needed crutches, still had nasty cracks in his shell, but Leo shook his head and said he wanted to move around.

Now, there are six people in their home, and Raph has idea how they got here.

Humans, all of them. Adults, big guys, some of them even taller than Raph. They’re wearing military fatigues and vests and helmets, and they’re armed to the teeth. EPF is emblazoned on their lapels.

They’ve positioned themselves to block Leo and Raph off from each other. Three gun barrels trained on each of them. Raph wonders how they got past Donnie’s security system.

Calling for help is no use. Mikey and Splinter have gone to the Hidden City for supplies, and Donnie’s looting a junkyard. Maybe this is why they’re attacking now. It’s just the two of them, and Leo is in no state to fight.

Raph feels frozen, unsure what to do. He doesn’t have his weapons - if he summons them, will they shoot him? Shoot Leo? He doesn’t know if bullets would pierce their shells. He doesn’t want to find out.

“Heyyyy guys,” says Leo, his voice light despite the situation. “Are you from the IRS? Sorry, we’ll get right on those taxes.”

“Quiet,” barks one of the men.

“Oh yeah, right to remain silent.” Leo chuckles in a strained way. “Never been good at that one.”

“You will come with us,” the same man says. “We are authorized to use force if you do not cooperate.”

“Sorry, my dad says not to go with strangers.”

Raph can’t see it, but he hears it: the slam of something his little brother’s face; Leo grunting in pain; the clatter of his crutches as he stumbles and falls.

Something inside Raph wakes up and roars.

They are outnumbered. They are unarmed. They are just kids, facing down adults with guns and armor and forceful expressions.

And Raph will fight tooth and nail, to his last breath, to protect his family.

His ninpo crackles as it engulfs his fists. He hears one of the men shout in surprise. There’s a gunshot, then another.

Raph barely registers it. His only thought is to protect Leo. He knows nothing else.

It’s a few minutes later when the static clears. “Raph!” Leo is calling, and he sounds panicked, and it shakes Raph back to awareness.

There’s blood everywhere. The air stinks with it. And there are bodies. Six of them, mangled and bent and impossibly small on the ground.

The red of his ninpo falls away and Raph stares in uncomprehending shock.

They’re dead.

He killed them.

It had been easy.

“Raph,” Leo says again, something begging in his tone. “Raph, come on, snap out of it. We can’t stay here.”

“I killed them,” he says.

“It was self-defense,” Leo answers immediately. “They broke into our house. They had guns.”

“It was easy,” he says, and feels sick.

“They attacked us,” Leo argues. He’s shaking and so is Raph. “You were protecting me.”

Raph stares at his hands. He feels like they should have blood on them, but they don’t. His ninpo shielded him from the spray.

“Raph,” says Leo, voice somehow measured despite everything. “Donnie’s alone.”

It’s this that finally shakes him out of it. His other little brother is alone. What if they’re after him, too?

He looks at Leo. There’s a trickle of blood coming from his nose where he got hit. He’ll have a shiner for sure. But he’s unhurt otherwise. His eyes are big and worried but they aren’t afraid.

“We have to get out of here,” Leo reiterates. “We can get the tank. Get Donnie and Dad and Mikey and figure out what to do.”

Raph nods. Right. They can’t just stand around. They can’t stay here with the-

He takes a deep breath. “I’ll carry you, you try to get Donnie on the comms.”

Relief floods Leo’s face, and he nods. “Great plan, big guy.”

Raph lifts Leo in his arms, grabbing his crutch and tucking it under his shoulder before he’s moving. Away from the stench of blood and death.

Leo calls Donnie on the comm, and he answers right away. He already knows, and Raph listens as the twins work out a meeting point. Leo doesn’t tell Donnie what happened. Just says they’re okay.

It will do for now.

#dandy trick or treat #cw death #cw violence #cw guns #rise raph #rise leo #oops

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 28 - An Un-Sound Mind

Murky black morphed into overwhelming, piercing white as Don’s vision steadily began to return. The growing ache in his shoulders were revealed to be two sets of large, gloved hands dragging him through the first dimly-lit corridor. His ears were echoing with a screeching hum as he once again was pulled back to consciousness. He tried to blink away as much of the sleep crusties in his eyes as he could, despite it making little difference given he still couldn’t SEE. That makes planning one’s escape and taking notes of surroundings just a bit more difficult. 

I bet Raph’s got the seeing thing covered.. Knowing that flame-head he probably fought off the sedative far quicker than I did.. 

Don got a little worried by how much concentration he needed just to turn his head. His mind still lagged, and his body still felt unreasonably heavy and uncomfortable to move.

Ughh.

Don slowly turned his head to face the guard on his left. The only human traits of his captor were their two legs, two feet, and their head. Anything else regarding the features of their hair or the color of their eyes was concealed behind their reflective helmets. Instead of looking into the face of another person- another soul, the only eyes that met his were his own mirrored in the reflection of the man’s helmet. 

While Don stared at the faceless soldier, his eyes quickly fell on to the design of their gear and armor. Thanks to the guard’s close proximity to himself, his infuriatingly blurry vision only partially distorted their image, making it easier for him to study the fine work of the man’s armor. Its sleek design and firm material moved with ease as the man walked. All the seams stayed pressed and tidy. Not a button was loose. It was excellent craftsmanship.

Of COURSE it is- look at the size of this place.. Pretty sure whoever’s in charge can afford giving his guards quality gear.. I should probably make some alterations to ours when I get back.. Maybe I would have enough saved up by then to be able to-

His words echoed painfully back to him like a slap to the face.

‘ ..when I get back.. ‘

This is not some vacation or a WEEKEND GETAWAY. 

He and Raph are prisoners.

.. And the chances of them returning to their home are slim at best. That isn’t fear. That’s fact.

Nevermind that- Focus. Raph is most likely awake now, if he hasn’t already been for the past few minutes.. I don’t hear any struggling, but if he got hit with the same stuff I did, then his body must feel heavy too.. I can hear footsteps behind me. Most likely Raph is being carried by two more guards..

And then a new problem arrived at the door of Don’s brain: 

HOW THE SHELL AM I GONNA COMMUNICATE WITH HIM? I can’t speak. I can’t reach him.. How-

Almost immediately a childhood habit reemerged from the forgotten corner of his matured mind.

Don inwardly groaned to himself.

That’s self-demeaning.. But it just might work.

As quietly as he could manage- cause he still had some dignity - Don sounded the tiniest of chirps; a sound he had not made in more than ten years.

Before he was taught how to speak, this is how the brothers would communicate to each other. Raph, Leo, Mikey and himself would sound an assortment of clicks and chirps, each in different orders to translate to specific messages. 

Click- chirp - click ~ “ Are you ok? “

Chirp ~ “ Hey “

Chirp - click  ~ “ Yes “

Click - click ~ “ No “

And so on.

The refreshing nostalgia that washed over Don with the memories of his childhood was quite welcomed in the situation he had found himself in. But with the joyous feelings of memories long past, comes the sadness of the fact that those times are, indeed, OVER. In fact, he was so lost in the past that he failed to pay attention to what was occurring in the present. Like if Raph even heard or answered his call..

Deafeningly silent minutes passed as Don’s anxiety only grew. The jingles of his chains no longer swayed, but shivered. He could feel the same painful ache in his chest infect his heart as it had throughout his teen years.

Now’s not a good time for a panic attack, calm down.

In spite of his clear refusal, Don’s body continued to betray him. Theories in his mind began to transform into worries; What ifs. 

What if Raph’s not here?

What if they took him away to some other lab?

What if he’s in another city entirely??

What if he’s being tortured as I just sit here being blind and USELESS?!!

NO. STOP IT. FACTS, DON. You don’t know where he is. BUT there’s a possibility that he’s literally right behind you, just unconscious. And if he’s asleep, then of course he wouldn’t answer your call. 

The jingles of keys snapped Don back to the situation at hand. He raised his head just as he and his captors reached what appeared to be the final door at the end of this eternal hallway. Thankfully, moving his body was slowly becoming an easier feat.

Guess the sedative is finally wearing off.

As one of the guards fumbled with the set of keys, Don took the opportunity to take one last look around. 

Why the shell did he use the word ‘ last ‘ ??

What if it was.

Ochitsuke, Don. THAT’S ENOUGH.

To Don’s right, a pane of see-through glass stretched across an entire wall, revealing the inside of another room. He tried to peer through, but his blurry vision once again became a hindrance. He had to squint and grimace to even begin forming the floating blobs into a recognizable image.

Something.. was kept upright. But the angle of the something made him think it was being held up. He could see that the something was mostly consisting of a pale green color as well. His confusion only grew when he noticed what appeared to be a large growth coming out of the something’s back. It was rounded, and covered the length of its body perfectly- 

And then it hit him.

That something was a turtle. A turtle LIKE HIM. And the only other turtle like him in this nightmare lab was Raph. And if that’s RAPH, then what the heck happened to his skin?!?!?? The shade of it was all wrong. It was misty and faded- not vibrant and healthy like his own.

He wanted to cry out. To scream to his brother. To make sure he was ok. To make sure that he was ALIVE. 

He could try to run. Attempt to save him and his brother from this nightmare. Or just try to get a closer look to see if there was even a brother to save anymore.

The decision was made for him as he was pushed through the now open doorway in front of him. He yanked and tugged and fought, but the grips on his shoulders stayed firm. Even so, he continued to try to elbow and kick at his captors, aiming always for the areas he knew would cause the most pain. His actions were harshly cut short with a single blow to the side of his face. His ears rang so loud it gave him a headache, pulsing and pressing deep into his mind. The nausea that came with the disorienting hit made his whole head go limp, hanging lifelessly as he tried to keep down his dinner. His cheek began to swell, burning with a reddish- purple bruise, and the fresh tears falling from his eyes stung as they trickled down his face.

Raph.. I’m sorry.

As he watched the door close behind him, he kept his eyes on his brother’s faded form till the last second. Then he was pulled to the floor and tied down by the cuffs and chains restricting his wrists. They locked into place in a slot on the ground, pulling him down to his knees. The room smelled dank and the cold, dirty ground dug into Don’s shins. His wrists ached from the abnormal pressure and weight.

But despite all the pain flowing freely through his body..

.. all he wanted was his brother back.

Without knowing if Raph was ok, Don’s mind could only guess. Estimate. Hope.

The room’s aura deepened into a chasm of fear and anxiousness as all he could do was think. His fear constricted him worse than any of his chained cuffs could. His anxiety weighed him down far below the floor he was already kneeling on. His doubt yanked and tugged at his thoughts relentlessly until they went to places he didn’t want to go. 

The thing about having a strong mind is.. It can turn on you. Like the monster from Frankenstein, the thoughts you give life to will eventually have a will of their own. And if you’re not strong enough..

.. it will consume you. It will control you, beginning with your thoughts, and ending with taking full control of your body. 

Sensei had noticed the power of Don’s mind when he was a kid. But not just on the technological side. He noticed Don would overthink things. Become super anxious if he were left to his thoughts. When one of the brothers got sick, Don would hide in his closet praying like a warrior. Not for his brother’s health, but for his own. He would stay up all night, not looking for remedies for his ill sibling, but instead searching for ways that he could make his body an impenetrable fortress against the germs. And when he became a teenager, things didn’t get much better. If anything they got worse.. He just got better at hiding it. 

Eventually, Sensei pulled him aside and told him about the dangers of his mind. How easy it is to become a slave to your thoughts. An empty shell, always worrying, always afraid. How if he didn’t learn to hold truth in his heart, then the lies his mind would create would roam freely, taking full control.

Don didn’t understand all those years ago.

Now he’s beginning to. Here, in this dark cell, held down not by his chains, but by the overpowering grip of his mind.

Sensei’s words echoed in his heart.

‘ Remember this, my son. When worry begins to pull things apart, never forget to speak truth in your heart. 2 Timothy 1:7, “ For God has not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, and love, and of a sound mind. “ ‘

A sound mind.

A.. sound.. Mind..

Sound - which means reliable or Sensible. Well, it seems my brain is quite reliable when it comes to solving diverse equations AND creating worries.

Ok. Let’s try this mind that is sound thing. 

Don did his best to get into a less- uncomfortable position on the ground as he took a long breath.

Or as long as he could make it, that is. Which was like two seconds, but it was close enough.

Breathe..

He closed his eyes and harnessed all his focus into keeping his thoughts at bay. 

Lord. I am scared. I know You already know that, but I will still communicate it.. I am scared and I don’t know what’s happening to Raph- but I know YOU do- You know all- You’re omniscient, which means that You know all, but ANYWAYS. I um.. I know You have Raph in Your hands right now. I know You’re with him. Please, God.. Please keep my brother safe. I don’t even know where we are- but AGAIN- I know You DO, so I really shouldn’t worry- but I am- cause my brain is being stupid right now- but uhhh please- please Lord- help us to make it back home. Alive preferably.. That’s not sarcasm! Just being honest- I’d really prefer to not die today- You’ve seen my list- there’s still so much that needs to be done in the lair- And I’ve already lost so much time being here- AGhhhhh I’m so bad at this. Which You.. already know.. Cause You made me this way.. And I know You still love me- despite my blatant faults and failing to do the simplest of chores… Aaand there I go again.. I’m sorry- my brain just won’t stop- yes, that is my request- Please, Lord, help me to have a sound mind. Help me not to have a spirit of fear. Uh.. A- amen.

Don let out a frustrated groan as he rubbed at his temples. He flinched at the tenderness of his bruised cheek as his hand skimmed over the fresh bruise.

“..D - don? “

 A familiar voice strained from the far corner of the cell, making Don flinch something awful to the sudden noise in the silent room.

Don twisted his head as far as it could turn towards the dark corner where the voice emanated from.

 Even with blurred vision, Don knew it was his twin.

“ RAPH!!!!! “

That's it for this chapter. :) Not sure if you can tell- ( I truly hope you do since its spread out all throughout this chapter ) but Don deals with anxiety. The kind that pulls you to silent, dark places. The kind that doesn't ever let go of your brain and thoughts.

In my Biblical Study of Anxiety, I am learning how imperative it is to speak truth in your heart. " Don't fill your heart with what if's, but instead truth. " And I wanted to explore this with poor Don here. XD Worry and fear have been a huge part of my life- just as much if not more than my faith. But slowly, I'm learning to let go of the lies I tell myself. I'm learning to give all my fears and worries to God. And it's hard. It's very hard to let go of control. But the peace I have found in Him- It is indescribable. And I pray that this chapter will touch hearts- and help them to see there is a way out of your anxiety. There is hope to quiet your noisy soul and mind. :) And giving it all to God is a good first step. :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

#tmnt #my version of tmnt!! #the strength in weakness #SIW Don #anxiety #panic attacks #speak truth in your heart #anxious Donatello #capture #captive #bible verse

[phonydiaries]

Someone's Memory - Lies of P

Takes place during the opera house fight, apologies if I got some lore wrong but it was all done in the name of sadboys

No intended pairing but if you interpret or enjoy this as promeo/carmeo/any ship that’s cool and valid

Warnings: canon-typical violence with a sprinkle of weird robot gore for funsies

---

The glinting puppetstring of the legion shielded P’s eyes from the bright white burst which rippled through the wide open space of the opera house. A flash of heat singed the edges of his coat as his hand lowered and he peered through the billowing smoke. There, descended from his monstrous corpse of a throne stood Romeo, King of Puppets. 

He was somehow more and less regal than Pinocchio had expected- tall and imposing but with a Lear-like posture, as if he’d aged considerably. This was most conflicting, as upon closer inspection he was sure Romeo was a man, but only barely. The half of his face which remained unmarred by char and decay looked hardly older than a boy. This revelation stirred in the puppet an unexpected and unpleasant tightness in his chest, but there was no use in indulging it. He’d do what was expected of him, as he always did. The King’s reign would end here. 

The blade of Romeo’s scythe dragged languid across the floor as he advanced, leaving a faint scrawling along its glassy surface. He drew it slowly behind him and steadied his grip with both hands. 

“I have to kill you.” His voice buzzed, strangely resonant and far away, as if something inside him had broken. “There’s no other way.” 

At this P’s gaze narrowed. He’d sounded almost remorseful. What care did the king have if he lived or died? Was it merely his appearance? Perhaps he was only so moved as P had been at the thought of slaughtering something so convincingly human. Well, little good it would do him. 

His steps echoed in time with Romeo’s and the two watched each other like circling hawks through keen eyes. P’s shoulder flinched back as the blade of the scythe cut through smoky air, staking its claim at the puppets feet. Quickly, he turned on his heels, sidling up behind the king and winding up to strike his exposed back. But as he swung, the blade caught on the outer shell of Romeo’s forearm as he whipped himself around. Suddenly his good eye alit with an expression P couldn’t discern.

“Tricky…” The king said under his breath, the word holding some elusive weight as it left his lips. 

P’s blade slid across the armored limb with a ringing that cut through the air. Foolishly he made a cheap swing for the King’s head, but his opponent was swift and weaved his way out of range. There was no time for P to calculate his next move as Romeo charged for him, the staff of his scythe already flying. Reflexively, P met the weapon with the steel of his own, a resonant CLANG crying out around them. Through sheer force the puppet shoved Romeo’s blade away, forcing an opening just long enough to land a strike to the king’s torso. Romeo’s eyes twitched and flickered eerily between the blade piercing his chest and the face of the puppet that wielded it. 

A wave of fear crashed over P as he jerked the hilt of his weapon uselessly. The serrated edge had caught stubbornly in the King’s mechanized skeleton and refused to budge. Romeo closed a glimmering hand around the weapon and thrashed his body wildly to the side, the inertia throwing P to the floor unarmed. As he scrambled to stand, his back brushed the wall of the arena, still hot to the touch. He was cornered. He watched with unblinking eyes as Romeo seized the hilt, which jutted out from the meat of his shoulder at a strange angle, and ripped it with unfeeling carelessness from his body. He gave it a curious glance before letting the weapon clatter unceremoniously to the floor. 

P’s heart thrummed incessantly as the king met his gaze. Though the fresh wound sparked and smoked, there he stood hauntingly composed. Heat made the air about them grow thick, and auburn flames licked at the heels of the king as he stepped closer. His chin dipped solemnly as he raised the mighty scythe above his head. 

“There’s no other way.” He echoed gravely, fingers curling about his weapon in reluctant duty. His shoulders rolled back and as the blade reached its crest he froze. P’s arm was outstretched, the puppetstring held high, shielding his face. He stared at the unmoving king, puzzled. But as his eyes followed the stark path of the puppetstring’s tether, he discovered the arrowhead buried in the dead center of Romeo’s chest. Before P could blink, the king was dragged before him. 

The sudden closeness shocked him too much to flinch. He stared with a dumb, blank expression, his chest still rising and falling with a quickness at his narrowly-averted beheading. His nose was practically touching Romeo’s, and he squinted in response to the red flicker emanating from the king’s socket. It was then that something in Romeo’s face shifted, a strange softening of features, even those more grotesque, the exposed jawbone of his right half unclenching. His brow turned up and his good eye went foggy, as if suddenly overcome with emotion. 

“...Carlo?” 

The puppet string dislodged from Romeo’s chest with a horrible gnashing sound, ripping through layers of charred metal. With it was pulled a ruptured heart, still beating even half destroyed, in an arrhythmic dissonance. Bits of shrapnel clattered to the floor as the king’s head sunk low and lifeless into his chest. As his legs faltered, P reached out reflexively. He held the fallen puppet firmly and with as much grace as could be mustered, guided his body to rest against a pillar. The king wheezed and his head rolled lethargically against the pillar. The rest of his body went limp. P’s gaze flickered across the face of this puppet in sudden awe. So he’d known Carlo. How? And to what extent?

The king’s body shook with a shudder of a laugh. His speech was strained and yet held a sure and unexpected warmth, perhaps even longing. It was as if new depths previously unknown to even himself had been unlocked by this onslaught of memory. How ironic, the liveliness he knew only on his deathbed. 

P’s throat felt tight. He was sure this was the first time they had met, but it was clear to him now that this puppet- or something inside this puppet- had known the boy from the painting, and well enough that even as he lay dying, still held affections for him. He longed to know more, to hear of all the times they’d spent together. Oh, how he would listen with rapt attention, how he would ask to be told again and again until the retellings were as clear to him as memory. Just as they should’ve been from the start. 

“Carlo, My Carlo… I was sure I’d never see you again, not since-“ the king stopped himself, eyes suddenly twitching with something akin to fear. His gaze locked with Pinocchio’s and his brows knit hesitantly. “You do still know me, don’t you?” He asked. 

He did not know the king, but as he looked upon the poor man, crestfallen, a half crushed heart protruding from his open wound, it seemed horribly cruel to admit this. He conjured up the image of Carlo’s portrait in his mind and made mimic the best he could, imagining the way those lips may have curled and the way those eyes may have crinkled with fondness for this once beloved friend. He nodded assuredly at the king. It was a deception yes, but a kind one. 

“Of course I do.” He said, low and certain. He didn’t care much for words, truth be told. They filled his mouth in a way he found quite displeasing, and never seemed to fall quite the way he intended. But he was aware that Carlo had not shared this same distaste for conversation. 

At this, all the raw and jagged edges of Romeo’s face seemed to soften, awash with relief. This was interrupted quickly with -P could only assume- a sharp pain in the king's chest, which made him wince as he curled in on himself. His eyes squeezed shut momentarily and when he opened them again, he stared up at the ceiling. It was a curious thing, P observed, that he seemed to be looking through the ceiling rather than at it; straight through to a deep and starlit sky.

“Please tell me… do you know what comes after death? Have you felt it?” Asked the king, his gaze still wandering and foggy. This seemed too grand, too important a thing to lie about, and the question startled P. He shook his head apologetically, but the king seemed not to mind, preoccupied with the invisible solaris above him. He let out a sigh that sounded just as sad as it did pretty.

“Whatever it is that comes next, I admit I am afraid to see it alone.” Romeo spoke, the timbre of his voice faltering. 

At this P held an awful feeling in his chest, one of desolate hollowness, a kind of gnawing guilt taking root. He did not care for this at all. With a mind of caring servitude, P knelt before the king. Romeo’s gaze fell from the ceiling, meeting with that of his old friend. 

“Then I’ll stay with you.” P said simply. The corners of Romeo’s mouth lifted in a melancholic smile and he extended his weary hand. P clasped it tight and bowed his head. Romeo’s lids fluttered. 

“Thank you, Carlo.” He breathed. As his eyes gently closed, the inner machinations of the puppet droned to a halt. 

With the king’s hand still in his, P pressed the cold palm to his own cheek and tried to will a memory into place. If there was any part of him that held recollection of Romeo, he wanted desperately to know it. But nothing came. And so in the absence of fact, Pinocchio dreamt something up. He painted a tender scene in his mind, one in which Carlo and Romeo were only boys still, untouched by the world. He imagined them looking up at the stars bedded by cool grass, the world around them quiet and warm. 

As this invented memory faded, Pinocchio pressed a kiss into the palm of Romeo’s hand and folded it neatly against the fallen puppets heart. He wondered if king was a grand enough title to be remembered by, or if friend would be truer, nobler, far more fitting, simple as it was. He left the opera house heavier than he had found it. 

#im not gonna lie i edited this sloppy style I'm so fucking tired rn #combat is obviously inaccurate to gameplay #but it's always okay to sacrifice accuracy for homoerotic fights to the death #didn’t write this with the intention of it being promeo/carmeo/Any ship #but if you interpret it that way that’s totally cool! #guys it felt so weird to not write in second person or in present tense for the first time in months #lies of p #lop #lies of p fanfic #romeo king of puppets #lies of p romeo #my writing #promeo #carmeo

[lilian-writes-sins]

       series masterlist

★ wings:

It's the Ladybug Miraculous? Ladybugs have wings? That’s it lol (probable spoilers, but this will be my reasoning for Queen Bee (and some others) as well).

The wings tuck into the red ‘outer shell’ (idk what to call it) when they’re not in use.

★ antennae:

They work kind of like Chat’s ears, so you can use them to enhance your hearing. Basically the antennae are like an extra limb/sense organ (like in actual bugs). Though, unlike how Adrian’s human ears disappear, your human ears stay (unless you’re wearing some sort of head covering, then they’re not visible obvs).

Speaking of ears, [Y/N] has multiple piercings (sorry if u don’t lol). I just think that, aside from looking cool, the piercings could confuse the Akumas and make them pick the non-magic earrings.

★ goggles:

They pair with the wings. I wanted to have a more bug-like look for the eyes + it just looks cool lol.

They are removable — when not worn, they rest around your neck. They protect the eyes from debris/wind/ect. + they can be used sort of like binoculars (i.e. They can zoom in/out to look around better, and if you/your character wear(s) glasses, the lenses of the goggles are prescription lol).

★ eyes:

They just look cool lol + I like how Chat Noir’s whole eyes are green, not just the iris, if that makes sense? It gives a more animalistic/inhuman look and I wanted that here too (I’m probably most definetly going to do this for the other characters too).

In this story, all the Miraculous holders resemble their kwami at least a bit (in personality, mostly). So, with the Ladybug Miraculous, the holders get Tikki antennae + the blue eyes + wings and a bit of her personality leaks through (her kindness/willingness to help others and optimism mostly, though it shows a bit differently through Red Beetle, not as outwardly as Tikki).

★ mask:

Since they already have the goggles (and the fact that I couldn’t make an eye mask work lol), they’re getting a face mask. An added bonus being that this covers more of their face :D

It works the exact same as all the regular masks in the show (i.e. you can’t physically remove it, like how LadyWiFi tried back in S1 with LB’s mask, since it’s magic). You can eat through it, it just looks a bit weird to others.

★ armor:

It’s not exactly armor, but the costume (specifically the red pieces) is more reinforced and protected (took some inspo from Mister Bug’s costume, which I really like).

I know it probably looks a bit flat, I’m just not well-versed with drawing armor lol.

★ weapon/tools:

I took inspo from some concept art images i found on the MLB wiki:

Red Beetle is less reliant on Lucky Charms, using them more so for the fixing/setting everything back to normal, than as a way to solve the problem (unless it’s like a weapon/weapon adjacent).

★ other modifications:

Okay so, your body does have slight changes when transformed (this goes for ALL Miraculous Users, in my mind). I.E. you’re taller and more muscular, than you are as a civilian. As an adolescent, it’s not really noticable (you still buff out and tower over everyone when transformed, dw all you tall queens/kings/royals), but adult/mature users, (ex. Hawkmoth and Mayura), have a She-Ra effect, they grow to like 8ft (2,44m) tall (or taller). I got this idea from this post.

Also, I know my drawing might look like a skinny twink, but the only thing that I mention about your/[Y/N]’s appearance/body is height and build (i.e. you’re tall and muscular/strong), and even then, it’s mostly when you’re transformed into Red Beetle.

       series masterlist

★ author's note: with this design, I wanted to stray a lot from Marinette’s Ladybug, mostly cuz her fit was UGLY, but it also doesn’t really work with the [Y/N] I’m going for. They’re a lot more closed off, so I thought a more armored/protected look, where even most of their face is covered, would fit better. Also [Y/N]’s main goal with the Miraculous is to protect her family (Astrid and future pals) and they couldn’t realistically do that in a spandex suit lol. ANYWAYS, hope you enjoyed this little art rant, I might do Adrien/Chat soon (his won’t be as detailed no promises)!

#★.lilian draws #miraculous redesign #character redesign #ml ladybug redesign #ml tikki redesign

[statsbot]

Living Armor (Dunmeshi)

Below are three statblocks for Living Armors in the style of Dungeon Meshi - colonial mollusks living in between the plates of suits of armor.

AD&D/OSR

Pathfinder

D&D 5e

Full text under the Read More

AD&D/OSR:

In the shadowed corners of forsaken ruins and rust-eaten dungeons, the clatter of metal hints at a menace unlike any other. Behold the colonial mollusks, a curious form of life that thrives unseen within the hollows of abandoned armor. Individually, they are but soft-bodied creatures, seeking refuge within iron shells. Yet together, they achieve a bizarre unity of purpose, moving the armor as if it were their own body. The elder colonies, more ambitious and adorned, shift into grander armaments, echoing the vanity of hermit crabs in their endless quest for the perfect shell. With clusters of their kind nestled in helms to serve as scouts and sentries, they seem nothing more than empty suits of armor, save for the rare, ghastly glimpse of a tentacle through a visor. Woe betide the unwary adventurer who trespasses during their mating season, for the living armor, normally docile, turns fiercely protective of its nascent brood. STATBLOCK Living Armor (Colonial Mollusk)

Armor Class: 2 (due to the hard metal armor)

Hit Points: 5d8 (individual mollusks within have 1 hp each, but damaging them requires piercing the armor)

Movement: 20' (6')

Attack: 1 weapon attack (by weapon type, typically 1d8 for a sword)

Damage: By weapon type

Special Attacks: None

Special Defenses: Regeneration – Any "killed" armor piece regenerates in 3d4 rounds as mollusks pull it back together. True death only comes if all mollusks are killed or armor is completely destroyed.

Magic Resistance: Standard

Size: M (6'+ tall)

Alignment: Neutral

Intelligence: Animal (cluster intelligence when acting as a colony)

Pathfinder:

In the derelict halls of forgotten crypts, adventurers whisper of armor that moves of its own volition, clanking and grinding with the eerie echo of non-life. Yet, within these metallic shells are not spirits nor necromantic energies, but a clever congregation of colonial mollusks, thriving unseen. The Mollusk Armor, as it's known by those few who've peered beneath its guise, is an ecology unto itself—a symbiotic assembly of creatures that have found unity in animating the empty husks of warriors long gone. The eldest of these colonies sport grotesque, calcareous growths, a grim heraldry only nature could craft.

STATBLOCK Mollusk Armor N Medium vermin (colony) Init +0; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +0

DEFENSE AC 20, touch 10, flat-footed 20 (+10 natural, armor varies) hp 45 (7d8+14) Fort +7, Ref +2, Will +2 Defensive Abilities: Armor Reformation, All-Around Vision; DR 5/slashing; Immune mind-affecting effects

OFFENSE Speed 20 ft. Melee Weapon Attack (e.g., longsword) +8 (1d8+3/19-20), Slam +3 (1d6+1) Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft.

STATISTICS Str 16, Dex 10, Con 14, Int —, Wis 10, Cha 1 Base Atk +5; CMB +8; CMD 18

SPECIAL ABILITIES Armor Reformation (Ex): When a Mollusk Armor is reduced to 0 hit points, the mollusks within quickly retreat and begin reassembling their protective shell. After 1d4+1 rounds, the Mollusk Armor re-forms with half its maximum hit points. Destroying the armor or exposing the mollusks to salt water prevents this reformation. All-Around Vision (Ex): The colony's mollusks are well-distributed within the armor, especially in the helmet, giving the Mollusk Armor a 360-degree field of vision. This makes it immune to flanking and sneak attacks.

D&D 5e:

In the twisted corridors of an abandoned citadel, a clanking sound echoes with a rhythm as precise as clockwork. A suit of armor, ornate and bearing the scars of many battles, patrols the area. But within this iron carapace, a colony of intelligent mollusks lurks, controlling the metal shell as one. These creatures, resembling nautiluses with their soft bodies and tentacles, have bound together, forming a collective consciousness that animates the armor. Their helmet-cluster acts as the brain, with the visor serving as their all-seeing eyes. The older the colony, the more grand the armor they command, sometimes adorned with intimidating spikes or gilded edges. Beware the mating season, for during these desperate times they will fiercely attack anyone who ventures too close to their hidden brood. STATBLOCKLiving Armor ColonyMedium swarm of Tiny monstrosities (colonial mollusks), unaligned

Armor Class: 18 (plate armor)

Hit Points: 60 (8d8 + 24)

Speed: 25 ft.

| STR | DEX | CON | INT | WIS | CHA | |------|-----|-----|-----|-----|-----| | 16 (+3)| 11 (+0)| 16 (+3)| 3 (-4)| 10 (+0)| 1 (-5)|

Skills: Perception +2

Damage Immunities: poison, psychic; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical attacks not made with adamantine weapons

Condition Immunities: charmed, frightened, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned

Senses: blindsight 60 ft. (blind beyond this radius), passive Perception 12

Languages: —

Challenge: 5 (1,800 XP)

Traits

Regeneration. The Living Armor regains 10 hit points at the start of its turn. If the Living Armor takes fire damage, this trait doesn't function at the start of the Living Armor's next turn. The Living Armor dies only if it starts its turn with 0 hit points and doesn't regenerate.

Mollusk Vulnerability. When exposed to fire damage, the Living Armor has disadvantage on all saving throws and its Regeneration trait is suppressed for 1d4 rounds.

Immutable Form. The Living Armor is immune to any spell or effect that would alter its form. False Appearance. While the Living Armor remains motionless, it is indistinguishable from a normal suit of armor.

Shell Game. If a piece of the Living Armor is removed or destroyed, the mollusks inside can use their action to reassemble or replace the piece, restoring the Living Armor to its full hit points.

Actions

Multiattack. The Living Armor makes two melee attacks.

Longsword. Melee Weapon Attack: +4 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 8 (1d8 + 2) slashing damage, or 9 (1d10 + 2) slashing damage if used with two hands.

Shield Bash. Melee Weapon Attack: +4 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature. Hit: 6 (1d8 + 2) bludgeoning damage, and the target must succeed on a DC 12 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone.

#dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #living armor #homebrew #d&d #d&d 5e #ttrpg #dggbot #pathfinder #ad&d #osr

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

Personal QSMP design hcs and interpretations (PART 1)

1. q!Quackity

ducktaur. predominantly golden yellow feathers and bright orange duck legs

partial heterochromia (dark brown with bits of bluish-grey)

his wear is different depending on which language he is maining at the moment

Eng!Q has an eyebrow scar, calloused hands, and some browning feathers. Wears religious jewelry and warm-colored clothes.

ESP!Q has ear piercings and blue-dyed feathers. Always has a clip-on tie and cool colored clothes.

Post-Tilin death, he either has their ribbon as a necktie (ESP) or belt (ENG)

has a pin of the QSMP logo always on his person

Brushes his feathers before teaching class

2. q!Jaiden

she is the cartoon character reflected by the mc skin, though is nonetheless perceived as human

she magical girl transforms into the vtuber fit whenever she wants to. Most of the time, it's to fight or to protect Bobby

she transforms using a magical brooch that resembles the emblem on her vtuber fit. she can add stuff on the brooch to alter her transformed appearance (like changing the bird wings to butterfly ones, or having a shiny rainbow mode)

she made a smaller, less powerful replica of her brooch for Bobby so he can get into armor much faster

she "draws" things out of her inventory with her fingers in the air (think the spellcasting of the witches in The Owl House, but with different symbols)

When Bobby died, her transformed look takes on a more dark and brooding appearance

3. q!Roier

he's not a spider hybrid but like, an actual Spiderman—literally got bit by a radioactive spider and everything

alternates between his superhero suit and a civilian fit. like jaiden, he transforms between fits superhero style

can fire webs from his hands, has slight spider sense, and also venomous saliva (so i beg of you, do not get head from this man)

wears natural makeup bc he likes to. he darkens it a little when he feels particularly vengeful (this is canon but yk)

the spiderman traits also apply to Melissa, whose dyed lingerie is literally weaved from spider webs

Post-Bobby death, he wears more blacks (both in civilian and superhero fits) and a lot more eyeliner

4. q!Bad

humanoid looking demon. resembles a void-like shadow in extreme emotional states

distinctly has a glowing halo. it has long horns growing out of it + a shadowy demon tail

has his mc skin's hoodie but sleeveless. collared shirts of any color is usually under that + beige khakis, white socks and various sneakers!

His hoodie has a small embroidered symbol of the Order Theoritas, hidden near the collar of the hood

his hair is long and usually tied loosely. wears glasses as well

sharp canines make him look a bit catty

his reaper get-up is well-sewn cursed cloth. wearing the fit makes his halo and tail larger, darker, and more shadowy

there's a block of diamond + an image of skeppy always on his person

He lets Dapper wear the ghost chat bell as a tail accessory

5. q!Spreen

werebear. He turns into a human during sunny daytimes, and is otherwise an anthromorphic bear-man.

black bear, like the mc skin

fashion sense however matches the CC; generally street-looking even with the bulk of armor

canines and claws glow when he's fighting someone in bear mode. he grows them out fighting during his human state

smells like cigarettes

6. q!Slime

a player equivalent to minecraft slime

prefers taking on a humanoid appearance, and has taken it long enough to master recolorization of said state. feels uncomfortable taking any other form as well

experiences pain when shifting (i mean that's also canon but yk)

behaves like a magma cube in extreme negative emotional states. will resemble one if you piss him off enough

he has no actual clothes, he shapeshifts the appearance of clothing. (q!Mariana has noticed, and he doesn't like to think too hard about it) his most external layer is armor and glasses.

he and q!Mariana have each a piece of Juanaflippa's shell on their person

7. q!Cellbit

human. well, not completely according to genetics but is more or less perceived as one.

The CC but wearing the blockman-cubito's fits

wears eyeliner to hide the eyebags. This doesnt work and only makes his eyes more expressive

a shadow looms the upper half of his face whenever he's being super weird and mysterious. It darkens when he's consciously about to do something really bad in a dramatic anime way; this is much more emphasized if he puts on his goggles

he paints his nails and the paint always trails. these glow sailor moon style when he comes into contact with the blood of any living creature

has a caffeine addiction

The chainsaw scars are deep enough that Cellbit doesn't like looking at himself when changing; he forces it though to remember why he's doing anything at all

Taught Richas how to draw the symbol for the Ordo Theoritas. He also has the symbol pressed into the leather of his gloves

8. q!Wilbur

humanoid man of unidentified species. perceived as human.

really is human looking, minus the pointy ears and prismatic irises

wears clear glasses. yellow sweater + sleeveless brown longcoat + grey jeans + black boots

has a black scarf and red beanie both made of wool and embroidered with gold threaded flowers.

always has a guitar on his person. since tallulah entered his life, he's let her put stickers and draw all over it.

They jam together when they can

may or may not have an enchanted singing voice

part 2

#qsmp #qsmp headcanons

[mothpawbs]

WINGS OF FIRE FASHION HEADCANONS

i've been working on lists of headcanons for how the different tribes approach accessorizing for quite a while, and I think my list is finally in a good place to post it! headcanons are sorted by tribe. These are free to use if you would like to implement them in art or writing! if you have any suggestions, inputs or questions, please comment, reblog, or send me an ask!

Mudwings

because of the mud they spend a lot of their time in, a lot of accessories aren't very feasible for them

like to use woven cords made of jute or other natural fibers. sib groups will often wear a cord around their neck with a coiled knot that has a ring representing each of their siblings.

higher classes wear jewelry made with gold and gems, and often inset gems into their scales so they're harder to lose in mud and water

textiles almost never used in accessories because of how hard they are to keep clean

love tattoos, like to get tattoos on their wings membranes and underbellies. clutches tend to get matching tattoos representing their group, and a first tattoo is considered a right of passage by mudwings

Sandwings

known for their opulent weavings and textiles, like to wear scarves, shawls, and capes for functionality as well as aesthetics. hoods, veils and masks are common to protect their faces from the sun and from flying sand

also wear a lot of gold, in the form of earrings, rings, necklaces, bracelets, septums, and tail rings

sandwings have very skilled glaziers, and often implement glass in their jewelry

occasionally wear gemstones, though not as common. onyx, topaz, sapphires, obsidian, and diamonds are popular

enjoy tattoos, often on the scales but especially on the wing membranes

dye their textiles and crests with natural materials, usually created from plants

motifs of desert animals, such as snakes, lizards, foxes, owls, and coyotes common in accessories

Seawings

prefer more organic materials, such as pearls, coral, seashells, pebbles, bone, and even seaweed

use very little metal, but usually gold (as it doesn't corrode in water)

love piercings, but don't often wear necklaces (or anything that has to go around the neck) as they tend to constrict both the gills and the back frills, which can be very uncomfortable.

gems are less commonly used in jewelry and are often restricted to upper classes. sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds are favored.

try not to wear anything that may conceal their glowscales, as this can make speaking aquatic difficult

motifs of fish (& their scales), shells, ocean waves and currents, and aquatic mammals popular

Skywings

LOOOVE treasure

wear lots of intricately wrought metal, usually gold but also silver and bronze. Skywings are famed for their metallurgy skills

during scarlet's reign/the war, accessories fashioned after armor (ex. scarlet's mail vest) became very popular

also very fond of gemstones, especially rubies, topaz, amber, and diamonds. the more, the better!

adopted gem insets in scales from the mudwings and consider them very attractive, in a "beauty is pain" kind of way, as it is a painful process to get them inset. as well as a symbol of wealth, it can also be considered a symbol of strength

sometimes wear capes or shawls, but prefer not to as they tend to restrict wing movement and can catch on fire if one is careless

Icewings

prefer elegant, minimalist fashion

wear a lot of furs, including seal, polar bear, caribou, lynx, and fox.

often wear silver or black metal, as it compliments their scale colors.

gems are less common, but diamonds, amethyst, opal, crystal and sapphires are favored. glass imported from the sand or sky kingdom are also popular, but became less common during the war.

upper classes commonly display their circle status in the form of pendants, rings, earrings, or bracelets

Rainwings

don't really understand the appeal of jewelry, as they can make their scales whatever color they want and don't need jewels to add vibrancy to their appearance

like wearing flowers, carve wooden tokens and pendants that are made into earrings or hung from necklaces, and sometimes wear cords woven from plants.

ultimately pretty minimal accessorising, but then again they're pretty naturally flamboyant in appearance anyways.

textiles are beginning to gain popularity as younger nightwing generations explore the continent and return with fashions from all over

Nightwings (pre-darkstalker era)

nightwings had lots of skilled crafters who made fabric, crystal, and metal items, which were common in the tribe

metal items, such as earrings, chains, bracelets, rings, and armor, were often made of silver or platinum to complement dark scales

crystal, diamond, moonstone, amethyst, and opal commonly used to accent jewelry or textile pieces

motifs of moons and stars were very common, with the three moons being sacred to the tribe

textiles were often diaphanous material in cool tones, with scarves, shawls, capes, and veils very popular. fur was also commonplace, especially in lower classes, and are either from prey animals or animals specifically raised for that purpose. some of these include foxes, wolves, bears,

nightwings had skilled glaziers (learned from the sandwings), and glass was very common in jewelry and spectacles as well as in architecture

Nightwings (post-darkstalker/island era)

many materials became scarce, and lots of skills were lost to time and lack

jewelry was simple and uncommon, and rarely made from metal (which had to be imported from the mainland)

most jewelry is carved from aluminosilicates (especially kyanite) and obsidian

textiles are practically nonexistent, and very ineffectual, as they get singed and stained with ash.

Silkwings

used to wear lots of silk items, which they prized as an art form unique to their tribe

never really wore much in the form of metal or gems, basically had the same conclusion as rainwings that their scales were so naturally beautiful they didn't really need a lot of accessories

don't really have the option of owning much jewelry (if at all) under hivewing rule, the main exception being ornamental silkwings in the jewel hive

Hivewings

depends on the hive, but love jewelry and textiles.

wear gem-encrusted gold pieces and fine silk items woven by silkwings

jewel hive dragons are big show-offs when it comes to their outfits and accessories

multiple dragons seen to paint their claws, could also do this to their horns??

insect motifs common

Leafwings

almost never wear metal jewelry

often use organics for accessories, including carved wood, dried leaves, and woven cords

stones are sometimes used, with jade being prized for its color

amber very common as well

motifs of leaves, flowers, and fruits popular

non-useful accessories became uncommon post-tree wars, replaced by bags made from leaves and fibers (especially with the poisonwings)

#moth mumbles #wof #wings of fire #headcanon #wof headcanons #mudwing #sandwing #seawing #skywing #rainwing #icewing #nightwing #silkwing #hivewing #leafwing #fashion #long post