#inkling!Eclipse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanderilnde · 1 month

Text

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

#ghost x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #ghost/reader smut #soap/reader #soap mactavish smut #ghost smut #ghostsoap x reader #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost/reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #ghoap writing

4K notes · View notes

ayyy-imma-ninja · 2 months

Note

Dear Eclipse, when you were locked away, what was it like? Was it scary?

"Let me explain this in a way that might help you have a slight inkling of comprehension:

Imagine yourself confined in a dark space. Complete blackness. Eternal silence from the outside world, forever unreachable through all but the bonds you once had. Enchanted shackles burrowing into your skin. Unable to move but mere inches. Unable to die as starvation and dehydration cannot touch you.

Time no longer matters to you, and you no longer matter to time. Yet beyond the walls of your prison it carries on, like you never even existed. Year after year, after year, after year...

...

You cannot have the faintest idea, of understanding what that is like."

#answered ask #fairy au #dca fairy au #ask the black sun fairy #black sun fairy #fairy eclipse #fnaf eclipse #tw isolation #depictions of isolation #tw imprisonment #trauma #fairy au lore

117 notes · View notes

worldsewage · 4 months

Note

Does Big Man exist in the Homerun AU?

(also omg the art with the nearly drowned inkling is incredible)

Q: Does Big Man Exist in the Homerun Au?

A: He’s hanging around.

(🚧Thanks to those who sent me OCs! Credits in the cut!)

CREDITS, + LINKS TO CHARACTERS / CREATORS.

Format is “Character Name: Creator”

Verin: @momastars

Axel: @possiblycringe

Buttermilk and Benny: @sharkbugboy

Ivy: @possiblycringe | Art Here + AO3

Eclipse: @mistressmime88 | AO3

Tsuna: @markerthorinius | Art Fight

Jeffery: AO3 | Story link

Bubbles n’ CB-808: @sick-ada | Art | OC masterpost

PEPPERONIPIZZA221: Deviant art

Robin: @possiblycringe | Same links as Ivy’s, as they are siblings!

#my art #homerun au #asks #splatoon #comic #Big Man #Salmo-San (oc)

191 notes · View notes

supremechancellorrex · 18 days

Text

In Avatar: The Last Airbender, I think the finale I have the most problems with is the Book 2 finale for a number of reasons that have always bothered me.

Azula's Plan

Despite how the show presents it, Azula's plan kinda isn't that smart. She turns up with Mai and Ty Lee in Kyoshi garb while having zero intelligence, and just lucky for her the GAang isn't there at her welcoming ceremony. Because Sokka just happens to be off to see his Dad (something she didn't know), Toph was kidnapped (something she didn't know), Aang is with the Guru (again, something she does not know) and for some reason Katara, despite being at Ba Sing Se, doesn't bother going to welcoming ceremony to see "Suki". *Convenient*. This is something Azula could not have predicted yet she's just that lucky. What was Azula's plan if the Gaang were there and had no other commitments? They'd seen through her disguise immediately and she and her team would be surrounded by hundreds of enemy benders with no clear exit. And Azula had figured that the Kyoshi Warriors knew the Avatar, so this is what she should have been expecting.

Another aspect of Azula's plan I didn't like was how she so easily won over the Dai Li. They never show the Dai Li's disenfranchisement, that perhaps if members of the Dai Li were growing wary of brainwashing women to be smiling Joo Dee tour guides, and wonder what the point was. Azula could have easily had an in if it was thought to be written. Perhaps she could have convinced them Sozin's comet was gonna destroy their little utopia in a few months, and Long Feng was in denial and like "fake news"? That it was ultimately pointless this entire Ba Sing Se project. It might have been better to show Azula chip away at them with some kind of logic over a "divine rule" speech about something the Dai Li would hardly care for. But they don't really do that, we're just to assume Azula is just that "uber-powerful" and "inspirational" and that's the only thing the Dai Li care about enough to sell out to Firebenders after hundreds of years of being embedded in the Earth Kingdom operatus, which is a bit weak reasoning to say the least for such a risk and change in their entire point. How did they know that the Fire Nation, who have such a fascist superiority complex, wouldn't dispose of them once the Fire Nation troops rolled in?

And then, despite taking over the Dai Li, the show never really uses them again except in the Day of Black Sun briefly. It was all just to give Azula a quick win and then be discarded as a real plot point .

The Invasion

Sokka *shocked*: "They knew."

One of the worst tie-ins with the Ba Sing Se arc is the invasion plan and that the GAang remain oblivious to the fact that the Fire Nation expects an attack on the Day of Black Sun. King Kuei told Azula about the invasion plan while she was in disguise and then found out she was an imposter later, yet never mentions this to the GAang. Moreover, Katara had the invasion plans scroll that was given to her by the Council of Five when she was captured by Azula, yet never wonders what happened to this very important information she was tasked to keep safe. This is pretty hilarious since the GAang talk about the upcoming invasion quite frequently in early Book 3. And furthermore, Sokka and Toph know that the Council of Five, who planned the whole invasion, were captured by Azula's agents. On top of this, the entire of Ba Sing Se fell, meaning the Fire Nation had access to their entire archives and anyone involved in drafting or writing the plans.

This is such a basic and unbelievable communication issue that normally would naturally resolve itself with just a modicum of effort, yet the GAang are surprised to find out on the Day of Black Sun the Fire Nation had an inkling of being attacked on an eclipse and upped their defences.

Sokka (shocked): "They knew."

Me: "No fucking shit, dude."

#avatar the last airbender #avatar legend of aang #azula #ba sing se #book 2: earth #sokka #katara #avatar aang #toph beifong #bad writing

100 notes · View notes

loaksky · 1 year

Note

Congrats on 2k!!!! 🥳🥳Could I request a neteyam x reader with the laughing more around them? 🥰🥰

fifth installment for the party; thank you for participating!

neteyam x fem metkayina!reader, pure fluff, wc: 1270

yesterday was officially the last day to send in anything for my 2k party, so thank you to everyone who participated! after this installment, i have two more little drabbles that will most likely make it to you guys by the end of today!

The people of Awa’atlu have a saying. They say that the ocean can feel every visitor’s deepest desires. That if you whisper your wishes to the rippling waters, perhaps the waves will deliver.

On the eve of your nineteenth orbit, you murmur your wish for a great love. It’s spoken into the quiet of the lapping seafoam, barely evading the pricked ears of your closest friend and confidant.

Tsireya thinks that you’re asking for strength, or maybe even the courage, to serve the people. It’s what’s written in your stars, but your heart, so full of love with no one to love, yearns for a taste of what your parents have, what the leaders have, what the island’s lovers have.

You don’t expect the ocean to give so soon, but eclipses later, over the beat of ikran wings and chattering villagers, the sea delivers you your great love in the form of Neteyam.

His family seeks refuge, seeks a calm in the storm that rages in the distant forest. The people are hesitant at first, want nothing to do with the family that hosts demon blood. But Tsireya, ever diplomatic and kind-hearted, spearheads their assimilation.

You keep your distance at first, watch from afar as she falls headfirst into the Sully’s youngest son while you observe the eldest with curious heart. He’s kind, exceptionally so, with an unbreakable duty to his family and to the island, and that’s what breaks the fragile tension between the two of you.

He’s collecting tangles of seaweed and the fragments of shattered shells when you happen upon him on what seems to be the sunniest day in a long while. Your skin is warm, accustomed to the relentless beating of the sun’s rays, while Neteyam’s worked a sweat that beads at his hairline.

“The elders are grateful for the time you take to give love to the reef,” you say quietly, hand coming up to shield your eyes.

Neteyam stops, gaze swinging towards you. He gives you a sheepish smile, tucking the last of the weeds into a pouch slung across the broad of his shoulders. He’s closing the distance and your face draws upwards as he stands a few paces away.

“Least I can do,” he replies, fingers fidgeting with the strap of the small knapsack.

Your head tilts and something shutters across his face as his eyes dart over your features indiscreetly.

You can’t help the small laugh that bubbles past your lips when the two of you stand there in a prolonged silence. His expression shifts and you note the smile lines that dent his chiseled cheeks.

“Were you up to something” he finally asks.

You shrug, shifting the weight from one leg to the other. He scratches the back of his neck, ears twitching when you breathe another airy laugh.

“Wanna go for a swim?” you ask shyly. “We can work on your breathing and you can cool off.”

His smile widens.

“Yeah,” he agrees slowly. “I’d…I’d really like that.”

Your best friend argues that you’ve changed. Something inside of you shines so bright and she has an inkling that one of the new villagers is responsible.

Sees it in the way your gazes linger unbeknownst to the other. Or maybe it’s the way the two of you end up falling so far behind during swims and excursions, only to be found giggling and splashing in shallower waters. Definitely could also be the way you two separately seem to always have the other on your minds.

“You and Neteyam seem…cozy,” Tsireya says tentatively, looping a hollowed pearl through a thin braid in your hair.

“Could say the same about you and Lo’ak,” you retort.

A smile threatens the corners of your mouth as you begin to absently draw shapes in the shore. You almost take her lack of a response as an answer, but her own laughter tinkles into the air. When you follow her gaze to the sand, you find that you’ve vacantly etched a certain forest boy’s initials.

Before you can splutter out a poor excuse, your name is called.

Like you’ve summoned him, your gaze flits to an approaching Neteyam. The heat of your cheeks intensifies as you quickly rake through the sand to hide your heart’s latent subconscious.

“Tsireya,” he greets, nodding towards the leader’s daughter.

His eyes find yours a moment later and you’re suddenly shy, the pads of your fingers rolling over the newly threaded pearls in your hair.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

Tsireya’s grinning like a maniac as she gives the final braid the tiniest of tugs and stands from where she sits with her legs crossed.

“Hi,” you murmur sweetly, eyes widening a fraction when you notice your friend gathering her things.

She bids you a wicked farewell, masked as a singsong declaration that she’ll see you at the evening meal. Your heart lurches in your chest when Neteyam takes her spot next to you.

The quiet is accentuated by the ocean’s lull, wind whistling through the leaves of the imposing mangroves. Like clockwork with the two of you, the smallest breaths of a laugh blow through your nostrils.

Neteyam’s already watching you, the ghost of a smile quirking.

“What’s funny?” he presses, leaning so that your shoulders bump.

You shake your head.

“Nothin’,” you say quietly, unable to form the words to tell him that you’re enamored.

That you asked the ocean for your great love and it delivered him to you, perfect and missing nothing but a pretty bow.

Like the thought slips and he captures it, he clears his throat.

“Tsireya told me to ask you about the ocean’s wish,” he says sheepishly, eyes flitting to the gleaming blue waters, calm like it’s listening. “You know what she’s talking about?”

Your chest is alight.

“Yeah,” you say gently, angling to face him. “The Metkayina says that the ocean can feel every inhabitant’s deepest desires. Maybe it will grant a wish, maybe not. It is only the will of the waters.”

His lips part in understanding, nodding as his gaze sweeps back to yours. Your skin still brushes his, balmy and soothingly warm, and in this moment you realize that it’s easy with Neteyam when both of your beating hearts are glaringly stitched to your sleeves.

“So…I should make a wish?” he asks, fingers millimeters away from yours.

“Only if there is something you desperately desire,” you say softly.

The words are weighty, laced. You’re trying to say more than you’re letting on, and Neteyam’s always been good at reading between the lines. It’s only a matter of if he’ll squash the fear.

“Oh,” is all he whispers.

“Is there something you want?” you ask, unable to meet his prying gaze. “To ask the sea for, I mean.”

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse. “I do. Badly.”

Your stomach is in knots and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to kiss anyone more.

“Oh,” you parrot. “I see.”

This time he’s the one who laughs, dimples making your already weak resolve crumble.

“Have you made yours?” he asks, and you don’t want to disappoint yourself by reading too much into the shift of his eyes, round and golden like the sun.

Your nod is delayed.

“I have,” you respond.

“Do you…” he trails off, swallowing down the lump in his throat, “Do you think it’s come true?”

Neteyam’s breath stutters, chest hitching, when your gaze seems to scan his features thoughtfully. Your mouth twitches as you grin, almost glowing, and you pin him with a look that tells him all he needs to know.

“Yes,” you hum. “I think it has.”

#neng's 2k party ! 🐉#neteyam drabble #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam fic #avatar #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar the movie

399 notes · View notes

skylarstark4826 · 4 months

Text

Sometimes, Jake and Neytiri play a game. A competition, more like. They don’t play this game often, and the winner usually gets to revel in their victory for at least a fortnight before the chance to challenge arises. It’s a game only played by the two of them, and while their children may have some inklings as to the nature of it, they are content to let their parents be the sole competitors.

As Polyphemus rises in the sky and eclipse begins, so does Jake and Neytiri’s game.

Evening meal is being cleared away, and the children romp and tussle around the tent until Jake and Neytiri lower themselves onto their sleeping mats, signaling that it is time to finally settle down.

Neytiri begins at an advantage – Tuktirey is barely a year old, and thus still sleeps most comfortably with her mother close by. Neytiri smiles at Jake with savage delight when Lo’ak stumbles over to her, sleepily rubbing at one eye and laying himself across Neytiri’s lap for the night.

She almost secures victory before Jake can even begin his counterattack, Neteyam approaching her for a goodnight hug and kiss. But that is all he apparently seeks, bending down to kiss Lo’ak and Tuk’s heads as well before joining his father. Jake shoots her a victorious grin as he wraps their eldest in his arms.

Neytiri doesn’t want to give Jake any more reason to gloat, but she can’t help but scowl as Kiri also heads Jake’s way, attention absorbed by the intricate leaves of the flower she has plucked on her morning walk. Jake takes it from her hands and sets it aside gently, whispering promises that it will be waiting for her in the morning when their daughter complains. Kiri grudgingly accepts this answer, and squirms in between Neteyam and Jake.

They lock eyes over the heads of their dozing children. They are at a stalemate.

Their gazes shift to the last of their children still awake as he finishes putting a fresh battery into his exopack. Spider’s jaw cracks with the force of his yawn, and his eyes are mostly closed as his body sways where he stands, fatigue overcoming him.

Jake opens his mouth to call out to Spider, but Neytiri shoots daggers at him with her eyes. The only real rule to their game is that they are not allowed to try and coax any of their children to their side. They must come completely of their own will.

Neither truly knows where Spider may go. For the most part, the family slept together, a miasma of limbs and braids and the soft exhales of sleep. Nights like tonight were rare, and usually only implemented when the children seemed so tired that an accidental kick or kuru tug would send them into tears.

Most nights, it can be guaranteed that wherever Kiri goes, Spider will follow. But Spider had been annoyed when Kiri had left the tent this morning without waiting for him, and his resentment at being left behind may still linger. But, Tuk still wakes at least twice during the night, and Spider is a light sleeper. He may not want to sleep with Neytiri if there’s a chance his littlest sister may wake him before eclipses’ end.

As if summoned by the thought, Tuk begins to fuss, tired whimpers escaping her mouth as she tries to fall asleep. Neytiri sings to her softly, rocking the babe with one arm and smoothing down Lo’ak’s braids with the other.

If the song Neytiri chooses happens to be Spider’s songchord, that is between her and Eywa.

As if summoned, Spider begins to drift her way. His eyes don’t open as he stumbles across the tent, guided only by his mother’s voice. Tuk quiets as Spider nestles into Neytiri’s stomach, hand intertwined with Lo’ak’s over her navel.

“Night, mama,” Spider mumbles. Neytiri tucks a braid behind his ear, fingers stroking a soothing pattern at the nape of his neck.

“Goodnight, my son,” she whispers back. She soaks in the bliss that is the gentle rise and fall of her children’s chests as she settles herself finally for sleep.

Before closing her eyes for the night, she looks across the smoldering embers of their hearth at her husband. Even as he holds Kiri and Neteyam with love and gentleness, he looks at Neytiri with pure betrayal.

“Traitor,” he mouths at her. Maybe her trick with the songchord wasn’t as subtle as she thought.

No matter. Both Neytiri’s home and heart are warm, and that is prize enough.

For the record, however, she still won.

65 notes · View notes

yandere--stuck · 11 months

Note

would you entertain the idea of a yandere Enki? 🤲

I think yandere!Enki would be the type to threaten you into getting what he wants. Frail as he may be, the dark priest was powerful in both his intellect and prowess in blood magic and necromancy, and made sure you and everyone else realized that.

He wouldn't threaten you immediately, though, if you suggested splitting up or that you'd join a different party. Enki would scoff, remark that you were insulting him by thinking you'd be better off without him. Honestly, he was doing you a favor. You should be grateful. And he'd better not hear of such foolish ideas from you again.

You both intrigued and frustrated him. He was supposed to acquire knowledge that could be found within the dungeons and find the man he'd seen in a vision upon his sacrificial post, but instead he'd found you and the little motley crew of adventurers that had made their way down here. And he had stuck by you, let you charm him and ease down his walls as hard as he fought to deny it. Just his luck. Still, if he could do it again, Enki knew he would have joined you again - for you, not for the Eclipse Talisman you would provide for his services.

So, understandably, even an inkling of you wanting to part was an insult. You had fought through blood and hell together. It felt like you had been here, known each other, years. Lifetimes. Maybe it was. It was so dark, it was hard to tell anymore. Only the gods know how long it had been since he'd last seen daylight.

He'd pull you aside and whisper into your ear that if you tried to leave, he'd kill your allies. He'd raise them from the dead, of course - not exactly smart to lose the strength in numbers, but they as you knew them would be gone forever. And as... Fond as he was of you, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to you. At least, that's what he hissed into your ear as he held your hands in the darkness, just out of earshot of your allies.

To keep you loyal and silent, he would occasionally threaten to increase his connection to Sylvian in case he needed to form a marriage with you. You'd lose yourself, yes, but you and he would never be able to part. Very romantic, wouldn't you say?

... Well, a marriage is only successful if both parties want it. But, you didn't need to know that, if it meant keeping you by his side indefinitely.

#yandere x reader #yandere fear and hunger #fear and hunger x reader #fear & hunger x reader #yandere fear & hunger #enki ankarian x reader #yandere enki #enki x reader #yandere enki ankarian #x reader #yandere #yandere headcanons #implied dubcon #implied noncon #suggestive

224 notes · View notes

deripmaver · 9 months

Text

Casca and Griffith: Before and After The Eclipse

Back by unpopular demand: ME!!!!

My main MO in Berserk fandom is Sad Casca Hours, where I make posts that literally just exist to make you feel sad about Casca, because I feel sad about Casca and why should I be the only one who has to suffer?

To me, one of the absolute most heartbreaking aspects of Berserk is Casca and her (platonic) relationship with Griffith. It is genuinely impossible for me to look at the way she talks about him, thinks about him, and interacts with him in the Golden Age without feeling a lump in my throat. I think this particular relationship is overlooked - and honestly, I get why. It's just so fucking sad, you can't think about it and also expect to have a good day after LOLLLL.

I want to take a look at their relationship by comparing and contrasting two specific moments in it: Casca's first meeting with Griffith as a child, and Casca's first meeting with Griffith as Elaine, post-eclipse. I also want to go briefly into how, textually, Berserk handles atonement and forgiveness.

We're here to have a bad time!

Griffith Meets Casca as a Child

Griffith, as the young commander of a mercenary army, comes across Casca as the nobleman who purchased her from her family attempts to rape her. As Casca tells Guts looking back, it was as though an angel came down to her, a powerless girl, and gave her the agency to fight for herself.

It's not JUST that he saves her from the noble, it's that he puts the sword in her hand and shows her how she can fight for herself.

Casca's life up until that point has been marked by terror after terror, to the point where the daily injustices become banal, just part of her every day existence. Her family is helpless except to flee when bandits ride through their village. Then, at the age of twelve, she is offered up as an unwilling sacrifice for the good of all them. When a noble offers her family money to take away one of the mouths to feed, they have little choice but to accept. It's not ever specified how she felt about this at the time, and it's not clear if her parents have some inkling that the man they're selling their daughter to has ill intent - but what is clear is that there's no way for them to refuse the offer. After being sold off, the noble attempts to rape her - yet another instance of powerlessness.

Griffith giving her the sword might actually be the first time in Casca's entire life that she has any kind of power. It's key that he lets her kill the noble, both because of how it gives Casca agency over her own fate, again for the first time in her entire life, and because it reinforces the recurring theme in Berserk of atonement coming through direct confrontation with the people you hurt, in this case the sub-theme "everyone gets to kill their rapist."

It's also important to point out that Griffith's motivation here is seemingly completely altruistic. He hates that the nobles exert their power over the most helpless among them, and he gleefully takes the opportunity to humiliate the noble by turning the tables on him. Casca at this point is malnourished, and a girl, and completely unable to fight - there's no reason for him to welcome her into his band. There's no way he could have known how good of a fighter she would become, and how loyal, but in this moment he just says that if she wants to come with him, the decision is hers. This points to Griffith, in the early Golden Age, genuinely pushing for a more egalitarian world than the ones the nobles currently control (though I maintain that he always envisioned himself as being the supreme ultimate authority of that world as opposed to destroying the hierarchy entirely).

Griffith Meets Casca After the Eclipse

Casca, after the eclipse, is in a shockingly similar position to where she was when Griffith met her for the first time.

She's traumatized from sexual violence, unable to fight, unable to even talk, and helpless to the violence of the world around her. It's not quite right to compare her directly to twelve year old Casca, because child Casca was mentally sound and was capable of learning combat - but then the comparison isn't exactly right also because of the history between Griffith and Casca, and because of the years of loyalty and service Casca gave Griffith.

It's always complicated to analyze how, exactly, Griffith felt about Casca before the eclipse. For my part, I see him as viewing her akin to a favorite tool - he felt genuine affection for her, but in a sort of dehumanized way, while of course Casca saw him as beyond human and even godlike. He saw her as someone he could pluck up and put wherever he needed, and he took it for granted that she would always be by his side regardless of what he did. Honestly, I do think he geniunely liked her.

His actions towards her during the eclipse, and immediately before, are a reflection of having that stability shaken. When she attempts to exert her own agency by forming her own relationship with Guts, Griffith is suddenly made aware that she's stopped acting just like his favorite tool, and I think this makes him angry. His rape of her is in some ways reminding her of her "place" - she is being treated like an object both because of the rape itself, and because the main reason he rapes her is to hurt Guts. He is purely using her as a tool for his petty, malicious vengeance.

Then, two years later, he is reunited with her on the Hill of Swords.

I'll post these panels given the slightest opportunity lol. Griffith doesn't expect to save Casca - he moves completely unconsciously to protect her, and then when his heart still throbs upon seeing her and Guts, he says it must be because of the child inhabiting his body. This is of course up to interpretation - I don't fully buy it, because Griffith has never been honest about his feelings.

What I need to point out with this scene, though, is that Griffith does not for a second consider Casca. Everything on the Hill of Swords is about Guts, when arguably Casca is the one who was hurt the worst during the eclipse, and who was the most loyal to Griffith. For goodness' sake, she's the only reason Griffith still had a BotH to sacrifice in the first place. Griffith tells Guts that he no longer feels anything for anyone, and after saving her from the rock fall, Griffith does not even spare a glance towards her. She genuinely seems to mean nothing to him.

Interestingly, as Griffith leaves, again not even deigning to look at Casca, he gives one of the only examples of victim blaming in the entirety of Berserk, by saying that Guts should have expected what happened.

Griffith in the Golden Age seemed intimately aware of the dangers a young girl alone could face, and he wants to protect Casca from that despite her being a perfect stranger. Griffith after his rebirth must, then, also have some awareness of the dangers in the world facing a disabled woman like Elaine, particularly a branded one - and yet he leaves her to those dangers, uncaring of how she struggles under them.

The purpose of this comparison isn't to make an argument one way or the other about how much Femto is the same as Griffith. Just for clarity's sake, my stance is that Femto and Griffith are one and the same, and that all of Femto's actions (rape included) are actions taken by Griffith.

What I really just want to highlight here is the pure, unfeeling cruelty with which Griffith treats Casca after the eclipse. KLSHGSLKJ as if sexually assaulting her and completely destroying her mentally isn't enough, his apathy towards her after becomes a near constant torment as much as his outright hatred towards Guts. It must be noted that he offers Guts and Rickert a place in Falconia, while Casca gets no such acknowledgement. It's as though, to him, she doesn't even exist, while her entire life has been consumed by the trauma of his betrayal during the eclipse. Isn't that just painfully realistic, though? How often do the people who hurt you the most go on in life, unaware of the deep pain you feel every day?

A quick note I'd like to make is that, of course, we're intentionally not being given any sort of look into NeoGriffith's mind, save for the slightest hints in the Hill of Swords. We don't know if he does harbor any sort of thoughts about Casca, if he's intentionally avoiding thinking about her due to guilt (wouldn't that be nice), or if she genuinely means nothing to him with his heart apparently frozen. While I do want to point out that we shouldn't take what Griffith says at face value, I find myself struggling to imagine what internal monologue could justify his treatment of Casca, both during the eclipse and after.

I think if you're reading this you're wondering why tf I'm getting so emo about Griffith, who canonically raped Casca and killed everyone she ever knew and loved in front of her (save Guts), being mean to Casca in the aftermath. Like, do I think he should be nice to her? Pretend like nothing happened? No, of course not - what I want is that he didn't assault her in the first place, not after how much she idolized him and loved him. It's brutal to have watched that happen, and to watch the utter apathy with which he looks at her after, to the point that I wonder how he could have ever cared about her if this is what he would do.

As for protecting her as Elaine from the dangers in the world, am I really suggesting he should have plucked her up and away from Guts to hide her away from all the monsters in the world?

SPEAKING OF WHICH.......................

Griffith's Kidnapping of Casca

ohhhhh nmy god oh my fucking godhksdjfghnvlskfdj

Griffith left Casca to the dangers of the world on the Hill of Swords, and then the minute the fact that she's apart from him presents a weakness to him (ie his uncontrolled travel to visit her and Guts during his full moon transformations into their son), he just... Kidnaps her.

Casca has just revived, and has this sweet close-knit support system, and Griffith pulls her away from all of that because, to him, she is just a tool that he can pick up and place wherever he needs her. Again, we don't know what's going through Griffith's head as he does this, but we very much do see the way it impacts Casca, and that to me overrides whatever internal justification Griffith may have for his actions - if he even bothers to justify it to himself.

Smug bastard.

The utter dehumanization that Casca is subjected to by Griffith in chapter 372 is so... cruel. It's just cruel. There's no other word for it. After everything, he has her drugged in Falconia, and again he won't even deign to look at her. I have a whole post on Ch 372 here where I go through this in depth.

Before everything, Casca used to look at Griffith like this.

In Berserk, in order to be forgiven, characters need to go through an internal transformation that relates to the harm they previously caused. We look at Farnese, who was going to have Casca tried for heresy, and who wound up being Casca's protector and humbling herself by learning magic from Schierke. Then, with Guts, after assaulting Casca he makes a point of changing his whole ethos and allowing Farnese and Serpico to join him. His narrative punishment for this, also, is directly related to his relationship with Casca. She is terrified of him and refuses to be near him, to the point where he can't even help her be revived. Not to say he's fully forgiven, or that he SHOULD be fully forgiven until he can speak with revived Casca, but these are examples of how Berserk treats forgiveness and atonement. I really recommend this essay by @imhaitusncarnate on Guts and toxic masculinity.

Griffith, while running Falconia as an apparent utopia, has done absolutely nothing like that - and his interactions with Casca in particular are just absolutely horrific, torment after torment like she's not even a person to him. I think this is meant to set him apart from characters who truly seek to atone for the things they've done. With Guts, he's flawed and he fucks up again and again as he tries to protect Casca. With Griffith, he won't even acknowledge her as she's drugged and helpless in his "paradise."

It's so incredibly painful to look at their first meeting where Griffith saves her, and puts agency into her hands for the first time in her life, and then to see how he treats her now. That, I suppose, is the crux of this essay - in many ways I think Griffith's morality as a character is represented in how he treats Casca, and to overlook that (and to overlook her) is to miss some of the most important overarching themes in Berserk. In fairness, I think this goes for Guts as well. He's narratively supported when he's caring for Casca, and narratively punished when he isn't.

There can be some arguments that this treatment is simply because Miura doesn't care about women, but genuinely I don't buy that. I think there's plenty of textual evidence that, while flawed at times, Miura even from Conviction Arc intended Casca and her trauma to be a key player in both Guts' and Griffith's character arcs.

I don't think you need to be reminded every day of how horribly Griffith treats Casca post-eclipse because not everyone has an overabundance of melancholic humors like I do, but I think it's important to acknowledge it exists and not chalk it up to misogyny on Miura's end.

I think, eventually, Casca will have a moment where she takes agency back into her own hands, in contrast to the moment where Griffith helped her all those years ago. I also think, at some point, Griffith will have to really look at Casca again. It'll be interesting, and heartbreaking, to see what happens then.

#berserk meta #casca berserk #griffith berserk #casca #berserk #griffith #sad casca hours lfg

133 notes · View notes

starheirxero · 4 months

Text

WOE, HORRORS BE UPON YE !!! Sun has the worst time ever but he's fineee he's doing great (lie)

Summary:

Sun had never doubted his lord.

When a god is as perfect as Lord Eclipse is, there is no reason to question his motives or words. To be his servant—his saint, his one true follower—is an honor like no other. Sun thought there wasn't a single thing he wouldn't do to make his lord happy.

Yet, today is Lord Eclipse's day of worship. He asks something of Sun as He places a knife in his hands, and for once, Sun hesitates.

Warnings: Religious conflict, crisis of faith, power imbalance, fear, threats of violence, coerced into murder(murder doesn't happen on-screen), angst, and hurt no comfort

Word count: 1,428

Sun had never doubted his lord. Not truly, at least.

While he doesn’t remember his childhood—or his teenage life, or his early adult life, or really anything before he met Him—Sun knows that he has adored and worshiped his lord from the very start. Their first meeting was so long ago now, several decades at least, but Sun remembers how he was graced with His presence when he needed it most.

Sun doesn't remember many details before He arrived, but he remembers crying and people and the earth shaking below him. He remembers holding onto something—or someone?—as echoed sounds of yelling and murmurs sounded around him. Someone with a blue and white color scheme was beside him one moment, then, there was nothing. A pitch black expanse that Sun could feel was unending. Finally, there was a bright light.

And then there was Him.

In all His beauty, in all His glory, in all His perfection. Glowing, good, holy. A god. He looked down at Sun like he was something more than a mortal who's body trembled at the very sight of him.

“Rest now, my Sun,” Lord Eclipse said. “The soul is willing but the body is weak. Push much further and there won't be much left of you to serve me."

So, Sun did. At least, he assumes he did, because his vision blacked out as soon as He finished speaking. When he woke, the world was peaceful under the lord's command and Sun eagerly served Him however he needed. Thus, Sun has faithfully worshiped and served his lord for many, many years. Inklings of doubt are inevitable, but he knew better than to think Lord Eclipse was anything less than perfect, so they were squandered quickly.

Sun had never once hesitated to obey.

Yet, now, he falters.

Lord Eclipse holds Sun’s hands—his unworthy, mortal hands—in one pair of His own, another pair gently placing a blade in Sun’s palms.

“I know that you know what day it is, Sun” Lord Eclipse’s centipede-like body curls around him in a way that is normally comforting and familiar, but now it feels constricting and claustrophobic. "So, please, indulge me on my day of worship, won't you?"

"Are... you sure this is what you want to ask of me, sir?" Sun meets his lord's one brilliant white pupil and lets out a nervous laugh. "I, uhm, think this may be out of my skillset! There's other people in the kingdom that can do this better than I," He excuses, trying to pull his hands away from the dagger.

Lord Eclipse squints down at Sun, His body curling a little tighter around the bot and effectively stopping his efforts to drop the knife. Sunlight pours in from stained glass windows behind Him and crown His silhouette with a golden light, leaving Sun entirely in His shadow. "There isn't," He says simply. "Who else would be better to entrust with this than my own servant? Truly, who do you think?"

Sun pauses. He looks to the side.

He doesn't know. He really, honestly does not know who else Lord Eclipse could burden this task with. Bloodmoon is long gone, Monty is inactive, but Sun is still here. He doesn't even really know if his Lord talks to anyone else anymore, so really, he is the only reasonable choice here.

But he doesn't want to be.

"You could always ask one of your other followers, the town is-"

"Sun." More of Lord Eclipse's hands start to grab onto the servant, forcing his head to tilt up and maintain eye contact. "What has gotten into you? Where is this behavior coming from? I expected enthusiastic agreement from my one, true saint. Why do you stall?"

Sun doesn't know.

"I just know I'm inexperienced with handling blades, my lord, and I only wish for someone to fulfill your task in the best way possible," is the lie that slips between his teeth.

"Yet, I've seen you handle blades quite well in many other situations." Lord Eclipse inches His face closer to Sun's. His eye squints, upturned in a way that suggests a smile if He had a mouth. "Nervous to take a life, are you?"

Sun hates the way his voice gets stuck in his throat. "Of course not. I'm never nervous to obey your command."

"Then take the blade and go."

"I shouldn't, my lord, I—"

"You should, Sun, just listen to me—"

"There's others out there—"

"There is no one else who can—"

"I don't want to!!"

The throne room falls silent. Sun realizes his mistake too late. Lord Eclipse leans back, but Sun knows it is not a mercy. He opens his mouth to apologize—to pray, to beg—but a hand wraps around Sun's mouth before anything more than a staticky breath can escape. He can hear the metal skittering of his lord's body behind him and he wants nothing more than to squeeze his eyes shut until it's all over, but he knows better than that.

"You don't want to?" Lord Eclipse repeats with an incredulous laugh. "Oh, poor Sunny, he doesn't want to! I'm sorry, have you forgotten who you've devoted yourself to, servant?"

Sun's hands are maneuvered by the god's many other, forcing him to grip the handle of the dagger with an aching force.

"Me," He hisses. "You are devoted to me; the god you worship is me."

"I know, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Be quiet!" Lord Eclipse shouts and Sun's mouth shuts with an audible click.

His hands are tightening all around Sun's body, clogging his vents and cutting off his power and digging into his casing and Sun feels sick he feels horrible horrible horrible—

"I am going to make a very simple choice for you, Sun," Lord Eclipse drawls. "You are going to take this," He squeezes His hands around Sun's and he barely restrains a pained yelp. "and you are going to spill the blood of the lady down at the lake."

"Her?!" Sun blurts, shaking his head with such force that it his earrings nearly hit his face. "She's done nothing wrong! She's been a devout follower for decades, she spent years making that stained glass window for you! She—"

"She's been testing my patience is what she's been doing, Sun!" Lord Eclipse shouts over Sun. "And you're doing much of the same, now, aren't you?"

Sun falls silent. Keeping eye contact is a physically painful task at this point, but he knows he isn't allowed to look away. He can only hope that the fear thrumming through his circuits isn't as obvious in his face. Lord Eclipse merely huffs.

Untangling His multitude of limbs from Sun, He turns Sun around so that he's facing the door. He holds onto the servant's shoulders as He mutters into his ear, "Go, Sun. If you fail me, I will know. If her blood is not on this knife when you return, I will make your punishment long and agonizing. That is a promise."

And just like that, Lord Eclipse releases Sun from his hold to skitter away someplace out of view. The servant stands still, rooted in place as he waits for the sound of his lord's body to finally be quite enough to deem safe.

Sun's joints let out a long hiss as he untenses his body. He looks down at his hands, both still tightly clasped around the handle of the dagger, and lets out a pathetic whimper.

He does not want to do this. He does not want to be this kind of servant.

But those are the thoughts of the dissenters, aren't they? Unwillingness to wholly devote oneself to even the most extreme tasks is a sign of false loyalty and Sun is very truthful with his loyalty. The symbols of the eclipse that he burned into the back of his hands is enough proof.

So, he will do as he's told. He will kill the lady by the lake—that kind, wonderful lady who had never once spoken lowly of Sun and used to make him meals when the castle doors were still open—and he will bring his lord the proof.

He is doing this because he chooses to.

(He is doing this because he has no real choice.)

He is doing this because he loves his god.

(He is doing this because he can't hide from Him.)

He is doing this because he is a loyal servant.

(He is doing this because he has never been more afraid.)

Notes:

sun: wow i sure do love having a completely normal and healthy amount of devotion to my lord (he says, actively wearing himself down to be more compliant so he won't risk being hurt by the one person in his life that (unfortunately) never leaves)

#xero creations #bats my eyelashes innocent style at u guys HEJAHSJSH #I HOPE THIS IS AS COOL 2 Y'ALL AS IT IS 2 ME #this horrid centipede of a god was so fun 2 write. i want to dip him in milk and sling his soggy body into a wall /ref #sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #tsams #sams #lord eclipse au #lord eclipse #centipede eclipse #servant sun #sams servant sun #sams lord eclipse #angst #i think thats all the tags i need ? shrug #centiclipse #sunvant

37 notes · View notes

forgottenmarian · 16 days

Text

@giadesstrin

@forgottenmarian omgggg yasssss plsssss!!!!! You know I loooove making crests 😩🙌🥹 She def would! Queens tend to take their own badge/motto so it can be absolutely anything and she’s not even limited to birds! 😂🙌 like I’m thinking Amira’s might be a dragon for example bc of the kolchean dragon 🐉 or else a flame for similar reasons hahaha — do you have any ideas abt what Marian might want for her badge?

Rather than take over another comment I just made this it’s own thing 😅

So I’ve thought about this and every idea kept being very Astaira coded 🤦🏻‍♀️ My first instinct was some sort of Sun imagery (which was actually more something i was thinking was her family crest, not necessarily hers!) which then seem weirdly too on the nose with the Calainon crest being an eclipse haha!

Another thing I was thinking was possibly a flower imagine— I’ve been thinking that maybe a hobby of Marian’s has always been gardening and that might be reflected in her badge? My inkling is that her speciality is cultivating roses so maybe a red rose? (Which could tie in to why Arthur changed his color from blue to red!)

Anyway that’s about as far as I’ve gone so if you had any ideas I’d love to hear hahah

#ooc #heraldry #about

26 notes · View notes

omnipresentlemon · 1 year

Text

The Little Games We Play

Set in a softer time, with a more forgiving beginning for Pandora’s littlest human.

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

As Polyphemus rises in the sky and eclipse begins, so does Jake and Neytiri’s game.

Neytiri begins at an advantage – Tuktirey is barely a year old, and thus still sleeps most comfortably with her mother close by. Neytiri smiles at Jake with savage delight when Lo’ak stumbles over to her, sleepily rubbing at one eye and tucking himself under Neytiri’s arm for the night.

They lock eyes over the heads of their dozing children. They are at a stalemate.

If the song Neytiri chooses happens to be Spider’s songchord, that is between her and Eywa.

“Night, mama,” Spider mumbles. Neytiri tucks a braid behind his ear, fingers stroking a soothing pattern at the nape of his neck.

“Goodnight, my son,” she whispers back. She soaks in the bliss that is the gentle rise and fall of her children’s chests as she settles herself finally for sleep.

“Traitor,” he mouths at her. Maybe her trick with the songchord wasn’t as subtle as she thought.

No matter. Both Neytiri’s home and heart are warm, and that is prize enough.

For the record, however, she still won.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar 2 the way of water #avatar twow #spider socorro #miles spider socorro #Neytiri #Jake Sully #lo'ak #tuktirey #neteyam #kiri sully #you know Spider would absolutely be a mama's boy given the chance #Jake and Neytiri turning their usual competitive streak into who can be the best parent #I had to indulge in my little fantasy of Spider Sully #and now so do all of you #fanfic #my writing

235 notes · View notes

snowe-zolynn-rogers · 4 months

Text

Imagine (been a while hasn’t it?):

After Moon spends a month or so scrutinizing every little thing Ruin does that seems sus, the scrub comes back spotlessly clean. Not a single inkling of the virus being there or having somehow miraculously made Eclipse.

So, after a month of waiting and being treated like a high-risk inmate, Ruin’s trust of the family is absolutely demolished. He doesn’t even trust Lunar at this point and won’t talk to them at all because any of them could just accuse him of being suspicious.

So Ruin just rejects it and runs away into the ball pit when Moon tries to apologize to him. And he ends up with Lord Eclipse, who still has yet to make another companion.

Lord Eclipse sees this little bot with trust issues and just scoops him up and makes him his new companion.

#sun and moon show #sams #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf ruin eclipse #fnaf moon #lord eclipse #queue #i see this as a win-win #lord eclipse gets a new companion #and ruin gets a decently loving home #because lord eclipse probably wouldn’t risk his new companion getting hurt or dying like servant sun #so he’ll be more attentive and possibly caring to ruin #snoweytrashposts #snoweytalks #snoweyrambles #snoweyrants #sun and moon show imagine #sams imagine

38 notes · View notes

ladyxskywalker · 1 year

Text

A Beautiful Pleasure

Klaus Mikaelson x Werewolf OFC

falling in love happens when least expected, even faster when your dreams seem to have plans of their own

rating: T | word count: 1.5k

a soulmate au for the moon in may challenge 🌙 hosted by @lavenderursa 🌸

prompt - perfume (week one - new moon)

Just before nightfall, when the Summer air is calm, all else seems to fall away. The sky becomes a softened shade of blue, fading with a certain kindness beneath all the clouds. It makes it so that a rose colored glow marries all of the water when the sail boats pass by. Their sounds, as vivid as the ones in your dreams, awakening your mind to something – or rather, someone you’d once seen before.

When your eyes finally close after having been so restless from your days spent running or hiding from yourself, there’s always that certain distance to be found there, throughout every shadow covered corner. There is only a small inkling of light in your slumber, fanning past – waning. Like an overcast morning where your sight tends to squint throughout a mask of fog.

And so, you wander. Slowly, and the slightest bit unsure. Set out upon a path toward nowhere beneath what soon will be a universe of stars. A darkened sort of magic that reveals a silhouette waiting for you amongst the forest shore line – the bayou’s river passing right through where that mysterious figure tends to stand amidst your mind’s eye above it all.

There’s a man forlorn in his stillness, his back turned away from you, so pensive and brooding. An enigma who from what you’ve been sensing, has been holding onto centuries worth of demons made all his own. His hands, all the while, wound tight inside his jacket’s pockets, as if he couldn’t make sense of what to do with them there at all.

should I call out to him?

You wonder.

But you don’t – silently hoping for this vision to become more clear so that perhaps you might not have to.

Is he someone I know?

and why does this endless stream of water glisten here so peacefully? despite all that I sense here that he might feel?

how is it then, that this gentleman always seems so lost, when it is me who has longed forever to be found?

For a single moment, you had wished that he’d been real.

And in those vivid dreams, amongst every uncertain eclipse he had been.

Atleast…

That’s what you’d like to believe...

Every night when looking up towards all the cloud cover, hoping for the rising of a new moon to come, you had yearned for him. Even through the pain and struggle of when you turned. Your emotions felt completely heightened and deepened by an immortal heart unseen. An unexplained, possible manifestation that you hadn’t realized you’d been conjuring up for yourself for far too long.

And maybe that’s all that it was – a pure and senseless bit of imagining.

Hanging onto each cycle of the moon, until it was time to transform yet again, and you’d wake up shrouded by your tattered clothes in a mess of dirt and brush, entirely unable to forget all about whoever this person was...

That is until you’d gone to the cobblestone square one evening just to paint – to look upon the fountain at the city’s center as though it had been the only thing to fill your heart’s most precious cup.

The one thing that spoke to you – the falling water, and how it traced every stitch of your memory with the trickling of its sound; a song left adrift just as much as you’d been meandering all alone in your thoughts...

A quiet artist who’d sought emotional release in a blank canvas, finding it easiest just to settle on one color in particular. Cool and steady strokes evoking all hope to be found inside a visual story of depth and shadow, forever told by way of sight and fingertips.

Depictions of possibilities perhaps you had been missing in the time you’d be focusing on the thoughts entwined by strangers.

…

“Ah, prussian blue, one of my favorites…”

Beside you there is an elegant whisper to be felt – a gentleman, sharply dressed, yet somehow casually timeless, who sits down with his own work to fold into, interpreting all of his surroundings in ways that speak to having intricately spent time with all of them there once before.

He’s gleaming with a sense of arrogance and an overall insufferable kind of certainty. A prominent, modern day renaissance man who knows exactly what he’s doing. Incredibly handsome with a subtle grin to be shared only in the quiet to be had amongst yourselves. Waves of light hair to accentuate the features you secretly wish for in those seconds to spend an irrational amount of time with. And now you’ve begun to fully understand what your confusing dreams had been about…

The act of stumbling upon someone in the daylight who just might have taken all your breath away…

An accent and capable lilt to his speech that has you hanging onto every word, no matter how simply put the sentiment…

And you wonder then whether or not you should keep talking to him.

…

He notices how you’ve been looking – far too strange, and excited; curious even, as if you’d been caught up all the while in your staring. Smiling lovingly as if you’d known him in many passing lifetimes there before. A slip of amused laughter, and a shake of your head in disbelief, sifting through secrets you only wish to tell, had you been yourself.

But it’s those deep shades of alizarin crimson that have you all but forgetting who and where you are, watching him as he begins dampening the tips of all his brushes once he’s started on a picture just waiting to unfold. A handsome grin written across his face, as though he just couldn’t quite keep it all to himself.

If his eyes hadn’t been so startling and breathtaking in those passing moments, you probably would have let something slip by now.

And so he breaks the weightlessness of which you feel with the trailing off of something else.

A good kind of different to make up for the wordless shift you’d been taking on all by yourself...

But not anymore.

“...a remarkable pigment used by…”

“Van Gogh. Starry Night – I know.”

You smile, playfully, hoping that there’s the slightest chance he’s caught on to your hint of flirting. That when he gives it to you right back, you aren’t worried anymore about the possibility of ever having been rude.

“Apologies. Perhaps I’ve forgotten that there are other people in this city that do in fact appreciate fine art.”

Looking down upon his palette, your stranger for the time being begins to swirl his brush around in a mason glass jar of water, grinning once more – relaxed, and revealing nothing; intrigued.

“Mm. What is that?”

"I'm sorry?”

“Something truly divine…that scent. Can you place it?”

Honing in on the softened breeze that passes by so freely, your senses seem to cloud what’s left of all your better judgment. Sensing the inner lady wolf inside yourself, and letting her take over.

“Hm. Citrus, Spice…an intense hint of Lavender?”

He shakes his head, setting down his brushes. Shifting against the small table in front of him that’s been housing all of his pleasantries and wildly drawn marks.

“Magnolia. Jasmine, then…Lotus flower.”

Looking toward him then, it feels as though there is a powerful pull between you; his eyes, alight all at once with a mysterious and youthful sense of wonder, changing incredibly from a piercing tint of blue toward a brightened, honeyed gold.

A glimpse of something you’d only ever heard about in tales told along the river when you were little…

Woven stories kept safest with many generations of your elders.

soul bonds.

twin flames.

wolves meant for one another who’d been separated by ages of anguish and millennia…

had your sight just done the very same? had he known?

“I am wearing perfume, but usually it’s very subtle. I’m surprised you’ve picked up on all of its underlying notes…I’m rarely one to be seen as something other than invisible.”

“You are far from that, sweetheart.”

And then, there’s a pause to be had where you’d both left your forgotten artwork.

darling, bashful girl…

“You’re kind…”

“Doubtful. Some might even say otherwise…”

“Really?”

“Care to find out?”

The gentleman stands, offering his hand to you – cheeky, though welcome and completely old fashioned. A sudden glimmer of blind faith to set you both free from the torment of small talk. Discussing fragrances as if all of that had been normal.

he can’t be human.

another wolf, perhaps?

an ancient alpha?

or something else?

Nodding in the closing space between you, your hand settles down into a perfect fit inside his own, smooth to the touch, and somehow entirely unbreakable.

You want to know what it feels like to breathe again, but this impenetrable feeling bearing down upon your chest right now seems so overwhelming – both too much, and not enough at the same time.

It’s him.

the man by the glistening dream river.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself…”

It’s her.

the young woman I somehow could not bring myself to turn around for…

“Klaus. Perhaps you’ve heard of me, Little Wolf …”

he knows…

“Such a beautiful pleasure.”

…💞

a/n – thanks so much for reading 💫 this is my first piece of writing that i’m posting since nov. been on hiatus for a while. felt the spark ! hope you do too. all the love always xo

#klaus mikaelson #the originals #klaus mikaelson x reader #the originals fanfiction #werewolf au #soulmate au #the moon in may #the moon in may writing challenge #pxk writes

109 notes · View notes