#//But have an old art of him that i've done

[smiley-mcdoggington]

Part 2 to this kinda because it kinda left with an implied ending but this one is a good ending ANYWAYS TW SUICIDAL TW STANCEST--

"You deserve a reward, Fordsy." Bill crooned while he moved his pawn forward - Albin Countergambit, damn. The sting of being out-maneuvered didn't gloss over Bill's words, though.

"A reward? I couldn't possibly request a reward when you've done so much for me, my Muse." He said, though the words were empty. His posture had straightened politely and he waited for Bill to argue.

"No, you deserve it." Bill argued, and a curl of satisfaction warmed him. "You solved that equation so quickly, sped up construction on the portal by weeks on your planetary measure. Your mind is doing wonders with me here, I love to see it." His voice dipped a little. "Watching all those neurons firing, you're a piece of art, Sixer." He purred.

Ford blushed. Bill knew what that nickname did to him. "Thank you, my Muse... " He said, hot under the collar and voice maybe a pitch lower than before.

"Don't you wanna hear your reward, Sixer? I hope you don't think I'd cheap out by only giving you well-deserved praise." His heavy eyelashes cut into his pupils. He knew what he was doing.

Ford cleared his throat. "Of course not, my Muse, I wo-would never think of you as cheap." He cursed the slip and quickly tried to refocus on their game - his king was open. Ford moved his knight. "Check." He could imagine what rewards his Muse would have for him - turning every nerve in his body into an erogenous zone, using that sinfully large tongue, going until Ford cried from it--

"All good ideas, Fordsy." Bill knocked over his king with a flick of his fingers, before melting all the pieces into a puddle on the table. "But I've done something different. You know your phone problem?"

Ford's fingers itched for his journal and in the dreamscape a journal appeared. "The ghost haunting my phone? You've found it?"

"No, not a ghost yet, give him a minute." He joked - probably joked. "Really, Braniac, sometimes of all the answers it really is the simplest one. The silent phonecalls weren't any weirdness, they were just your inferior copy."

"Stanley?" Ford blurted. "Why would he be..." Ford had been getting those silent phonecalls since college at least, why would he never say anything? Why would he always call? He felt a flicker of annoyance that it wasn't even an anomaly.

"I know, I know that little mystery had been distracting you, so I even dealt with it for you. No more late-night phonecalls dragging you away, you can even rip the page about them from your journal."

Unease sank into Ford's mind. What had Bill said to make Stanley stop calling? He can't have simply asked, Stan was far too stubborn. Had he threatened Stan?

Had he used Ford's voice?

Dread simmered like nausea. "How, might I ask, did you convince him to him to leave me be?"

"No way but with the truth - Scout's honor. Aren't you happy, Sixer?" Suddenly Stan's old name for him sounded wrong coming from Bill. "I took care of him, he couldn't bother you again if he wanted to. You deserved it, for being so good." His praises sounded like the ones you'd give a child. Ford's stomach twisted.

"Would you show me, Bill?" He asked tightly.

Bill sighed and snapped his fingers. The puddle on the table between them turned clear.

Stanley was sitting in a car on the other side. A gun in his hand shaking minutely. The safety was off, but the gun wasn't turned outward against a threat.

He clicked the chamber out of place and span it before clicking it back into place.

He lifted it until the nozzle buried into his overgrown hair. Ford screamed when his finger flexed - one-in-six odds, 16.666...% chance he never saw his brother again because Bill used his voice to say something so terrible it made him - made him--

The gun clicked uselessly and Ford sobbed. Then Stan drew back the hammer again. One-in-five, 20%, the mindscape around him trembled in his panic, and then his view was taken, back to the puddle of black and white that remained of their game of chess.

"Take it easy, Sixer, you're starting to make me think you're ungrateful."

Ford's eyes snapped to Bill to the - the monster.

He needed to get out. His mind, once a vast expance, folded and curled inwards, stars burning out, glass shattering, the longer he stayed here with Bill the more time passed between hammer pulls, his brain counted up percentages for the chance that Stan was dead and Bill had the gall to call Ford ungrateful? Had the audacity to use Stan's name for him when he'd--

"I don't know what you're trying to pull here, Sixer, but your brother's gone. What's the difference if he's dead or not?"

Ford lunged over the table at him while the sky imploded.

The next second he was snapping awake - on the floor, a fork in his hand just within reach of his old rotary phone. He scrambled to his feet, hand on the receiver and bloody, shaking hand dragging the dial, trying to will the damn thing to roll back faster as he slowly dragged out '*69'.

The phone rang.

And rang.

"Come on Stanley - come on - you've gotta be close to a phone." His voice warbled into the large, empty house. "Come on, Stanley." He pleaded. And then, the ringing cut.

"Stanley?!"

The line was quiet - not dead, but quiet.

"Please - Stanley just say something." He sobbed.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?" His voice was rougher than he remembered, haggard and worn in a way Ford had never imagined it.

He could have said a million things, words clammered for first in his throat but all he could blurt was "Come home, damn it!"

The line was silent long after he'd spoken, his mind scrambling for anything to say - Stanley was always the one that knew what to say while he scrambled to speak at all. Then Stanley spoke again. "First you tell me I'm not worth the time it takes to hang up, now you're acting like I'm a damn teenage runaway - we're more than halfway to thirty, Stanford, if you're done jerking me around I've got things to get back to--"

"It wasn't me! I didn't say any of the things that previous call was - it was - well, it was an entity that can mimick my voice."

"Yeah? And I bet you're so fucking eager to share the details of how you fucked your brother a decade ago."

"I never--"

"So you never told anyone but the thing that isn't you but has your voice was just also there in our bedroom when we were kids, is that right? And they called me the liar."

"He can read my memories, Stanley, it's not that simple." Agitation seeped in to replace the cold fear. Bill may have been... Encouraged... By Ford to look into that certain childhood experimentation, which was now coming back to haunt him. "Just - just don't go back in the car. Please."

"... What?" Stanley sounded scared, for a second. "You can see me? How can you see me - wh--" his voice left the receiver, too far away.

"Stanley!" Ford called, and the voice came back.

"What kinda voodoo shit are you pulling, there ain't a camera for miles." He demanded more than asked.

"It's - the entity. He showed me you in the car - he - Stanley why the hell do you have a revolver?" The question took the energy out of Ford. He felt like the world under him was fake. His hand throbbed, still with a fork in it.

"Doesn't matter, you weren't bullshitting me?"

"No, Stanley, I wasn't lying. I promise I can explain everything in-depth once I get there." He said firmly.

"Get here? You ain't coming down here, bub."

"... Our stupid face."

Ford sighed. "Do you always have to be so stubborn? Just tell me where you are."

"Florida."

"I'll pay for the plane."

"Not happening."

"Stanley! You scared the shit out of me, there's a fork in my hand, and if I don't see your stupid face in the next few hours I'm going to pull my hair out, would you work with me here?"

"... Our stupid face. "

Ford snorted. "Yes, precisely. What if I take a plane down and we drive up to Oregon together? Road trip like we did that summer of 61'?"

"Waste of money."

"Not if it's you."

The line went quiet.

"... Stanley..?"

"Fuck, fine, whatever, we're grown men no need to get sappy - shit. Fine" He said with a small warble in his voice.

Ford smiled. "I can't wait."

[inuxi]

that ask was rude of me, i should've just blocked you instead of telling you about it, i'm sorry. i'm aroace and sex+romance repulsed, and i guess i thought alastor was gonna be something i could enjoy for once like everyone else gets to without feeling like i'm intruding on a conversation i have no right to be part of. i'm on ios so i can't use browser extensions to actually get rid of all the alastor ship posts like i want, and i'm not sure my problem even has a solution short of just giving up trying, because so far i have found exactly zero blogs that are 1.) still active at all, 2.) still post about Hazbin, 3.) aren't actually 12 years old, and 4.) don't post about fucking Alastor ships. i got so excited seeing such good, recent art i haven't nuked yet considering how old every other post i can still see is, and i'm not kidding when i say i sent that ask through tears. it was rude and unacceptable either way, and i'm sorry.

i've blocked over 200 different people and i'm not exaggerating that number even a little bit. i would rather put a gun to my head and pull the trigger myself than see them so much as breathe next to each other ever again. i am so. so so so so so sick of searching and searching and searching and finding nothing.

the thing i've learned from alastor's aroace representation is that not only is the world as a whole not made to accommodate me, fandom space isn't either. i am an alien on a planet i was never made to fit into, and i don't even get to escape that through fiction like everyone else does. no amount of filtering and blocking and searching will bring into existence a community for me that simply does not exist, and it is futile for me to try. that's what this fandom has taught me.

i think the chances of me sticking around in this fandom are slim, so at least it won't be an issue for anyone else anymore. i think being excluded from conversations about an aroace character sting a lot more than just not being represented at all to be honest.

Okay, listen.

First of all, Alastor is officially an Ace, NOT an aroace. That means he can still be interested in any romantic things or finding a couple. No one is stopping you from seeing him exclusively as an aroace. But shaming people who don't share your point of view is a bad idea.

Secondly, I am an aroace artist myself. Romantic and sexual themes are virtually non-existent in my art. I can joke about it, but almost all of my drawings explore completely different things. And you come to me and try to talk about how hard it is to feel socially comfortable being an aroace? I understand your worries, but, again, trying to shame other people because they don't share your point of view is NOT a healthy coping mechanism.

Third, I have done THREE drawings in all my time that include a romanticized Alastor. Two of them were collabs, and the third was asked to be drawn by people. And these three drawings made you give up on my art, which you said you really liked?

The community is too heavily oriented towards romantic and sexual themes, it's true. People like us are often uncomfortable in that environment, that's also true. But aroace people can't just come in and ban others from having fun just because we don't find that fun or interesting.

Man, I'm not even Alastor's artist! What the kind of Alastor shipper am I? And you picked me out of a thousand people to block? Oh my God, that's as funny as it is sad.

In case you haven't looked at my art, I am a Lucifer artist. I very rarely draw Alastor, simply because I don't find him interesting enough. And because of that, I find it so funny to be labeled an “Alastor shipper”

[gremlinmodetweeker]

The Axe - Chapter 3 (Part 1)

Okay so I've done a lot of art recently, but as I've mentioned to some other people I want on a vacation for my anniversary so I'm back, I'm refreshed, and I was able to sit down and write the next part of The Axe. This fic is always super fun and interesting. I know medieval fantasy is always a turn off for me, so I don't expect many people to enjoy it, but I do think the world building in here is pretty impressive. Let me know what you think!

If you don't want to wait for the whole fic to be published over the next couple of days, check out my KoFi HERE

By the way, the whole fic is 24 pages size 10 Times New Roman. Full fic is about 11.3k. This is a long thing.

TW: mention of alcohol, public execution, gore description of corpse, religious figures

Wordcount: 6k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Behind The Dew You Sing To Me

You’d never been keen on execution wakes before, but today was different. Today, you wanted to see if you could learn more about the great hooded man with that glinting, silver axe. A part of you was afraid to so much as offer to help your uncle, but another part of you was too excited to stop yourself.

“You want to come to a hanging?” your uncle stared at you in bewilderment, “a hanging? Have you lost your gourd?”

“Uncle, I know what I want,” you sighed again, “I want to come with you. You only just got out of bed, you need someone to help you there.”

“I don’t need that much help,” your uncle snorted, “I’ll be just fine. You can stay back and do some work here. Buns need to be made for Halaxwake.

“But you need rest, uncle,” you chastised him again, “you have to rest just a little bit, right? Auntie would never forgive you if you got sick all over again.”

“She wouldn’t, nor would she forgive me if I came home empty-handed!” your uncle chuckled before glancing at you with a mischievous look in his eye, “why, you’re so eager to go I might think you’re looking to meet someone there!”

Your face flushed a violent crimson as you spluttered and coughed.

Your uncle hummed, “You really do like to get yourself into all the worst situations, dear. If I didn’t know better, I might even say you were looking to see a certain shrouded man! Maybe even, dare I say it, a certain mysterious hangman?”

You shamefully turned away as your uncle laughed.

“You think you’re so slick, don’t you!” your uncle’s grin was woven into his words, “I’d bet you really thought I didn’t know any better!” he calmed his laughter momentarily to heave the last load of loaves into the wagon. He took a moment to lean against the side and cross his arms over each other, shoulders back as he stood tall in the crisp air. You glanced back to see him admiring you with his wise grey eyes, “Come with me. If you’re anything like me or your father, I wouldn’t be able to stop you, anyways.”

Your blush hid behind your wide grin as you walked over to stand beside your uncle. He hoisted the wagon up and looked at you, casting you a wry wink before pushing the wagon forth along the dusky dirt road.

Your uncle pushed the wagon along the road, his eyes straight ahead as he hummed a gentle off-pitch lullaby under his breath, one you’d heard your auntie sing to your cousins. You walked beside him, admiring the wild poppernickins as they grew in bundles of little white and pastel orange-pink blooms along the fence posts on either side of the road. Occasionally, the flowers were overtaken by winds of orange-brown twineweed that snaked up the wooden posts and curling along the fencing. It interwove onto itself, making intricate patterns formed in the ivy under wilted papery white flowers. You figured that soon the farmers would be collecting the pollen for the Hanndoal’s-Turn harvest. You smiled at the thought, memories smelling of bright fruit coated in syrups and the taste of old brew ghosting through your mind.

“You think Ernest’ll have another batch of wink ready for this harvest?” your uncle interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to look at your uncle and blinked, “Wink? Um, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I hope so,” your uncle smiled, “I think Ernest’s wink always tastes the best, but don’t tell Leonard I said that.”

“I don’t think he can bring his head out of his ass long enough to hear you,” you snorted.

Your uncle laughed and shook his head, “Your mother said much the same, back when she was around. She never liked the Buscher clan, really.”

“Why’s that?” you asked.

Your uncle kicked a stone out from underfoot, “She thought they were all pompous pricks. Thought they knew everything there was to know about gourds and squashes and the like, but they were all the sourest things you ever did chew on.”

You laughed, “That sounds like my mother alright! She knew what she was talking about.”

Your uncle shook his head, “Oh if you think they’re sour now then you should’ve been around for the older Buscher. That old tyrant grew gourds sour enough to pinch your lips clean off. Horrible things, really.”

“And here I thought Leonard was the worst farmer in the village,” you hummed.

“Leonard’s a right gem compared to his father,” your uncle said, “his father was a right good-for-nothing. You couldn’t talk to him for longer than a vigil before he’d go off about how we were bound to be under the rule of elves if we didn’t prepare for ‘the rise up’ or whatever he called it.”

“The elves?” you rolled your eyes, “I’ll admit, I might say he was right if I didn’t know better.”

“But you do,” your uncle pointed out, “we all know the elves won’t ever try to take over the continent. They’re the best warriors you ever did see, sure, but they’re not that bright. And anyways, they ain’t as evil as he made ‘em out to be, but you already know that yourself. Elves are all just a bunch of bastards with egos big enough to blot out Brak-Hah’s-Eye. And anyways,” your uncle smirked, “they still don’t know how to make any sort of good drink. They need us for a good party.”

You laughed and nodded along. If nothing else, you supposed humans had that going for them. You weren’t called ‘The Joyful Children’ for nothing.

You walked along beside the cart as it squeaked and jostled over the stones littered across the dirt road. It seemed to whine over each and every pebble it overcame as it was pushed closer and closer to where the bodies swung in the breeze. Just the thought of the place had chills crawling up your spine. How anyone was able to endure living in that forest of corpses was beyond you. But then again, most of The Axe’s life was a mystery to you. You’d never even seen the man’s face before.

The Axe was a man hidden in a shroud darker than the one he wore upon his face. He was a strange, curious thing made up of flesh, stolen bones and misplaced teeth. He was walking death through a field of corpse flowers. He was the peace made between a dying man and his maker. He was hatred and rage and bloodshed held within a porcelain vase. All of him was drenched in criminal blood, and yet his eyes were blue as a newborn’s.

This strange man had taken a place in your life unlike any other. No man stood with you when you kneaded the bread for the next wake, but he watched over your shoulder and asked about the herbs and spices you tossed into your mixes. He walked with you when you went to church, an invisible shadow by your side at all times. These past two god watches, when you went to church, you would look down at the stone tiles and wonder if The Axe sat below, a doomed man listening to the words of something floating ever beyond his grasp. Innocent eyes trained on the glowing light coming from beyond an iron grate. You wished you could sit beside him.

Your uncle trod along beside you, blithely ignorant to any of your personal quandaries. He bullishly pushed the cart forward, ignoring its groans of protest. His stone-grey eyes were trained ahead, never wandering from their final destination.

“Uncle,” you asked quietly.

“Yes dear?” your uncle replied with a curious lilt to his tone.

“Do you think that The Axe is a bad man?”

Your uncle hummed slowly. He adjusted his grip on the wooden handles of the cart as sweat bloomed up on his rosey forehead. He took a moment to stop and wipe his hairy forearm over his face, then shook himself clear and picked up the handles again.

As he began to push the cart again, he said, “I think he comes from a cursed line.”

“But is he cursed?” you asked.

Your uncle chuffed, “Oh he’s cursed alright. Cursed by a little girl.”

You screwed your brows tightly together, “Cursed by a little girl?”

Your uncle nodded solemnly.

“Cursed by a little girl,” he confirmed, “I heard it happened when he was sixteen, right after his father went out into the woods and offed himself. I can’t remember the details, but the basic idea of the story is that an execution went south and the man’s daughter cursed The Axe. What the curse is? I don’t know, and don’t you go and listen to anyone who says they do. Nobody does,” your uncle gave an affirmative nod, “but he’s cursed for sure. He sees the witch, the apothecary and Father Kim to treat whatever it is, but I’m betting that as long as that hood’s on his face, he’s a marked man.”

You shivered at the thought.

“I’m sad to hear it,” you said quietly.

“Well, that’s life when you’re a killer-for-hire,” your uncle chuffed, “you need to be prepared for those sorts of things. And,” he paused briefly to glance at you, “if you really wanted to get close to a man like that, you’d have to be ready for those sorts of curses being turned on you.”

You glanced away from the cart to look at more of the tangleweed fencing.

“I know,” you admitted, “but… I can’t help it.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” your uncle sighed, “I know I can’t stop you. If I were a nobleman, maybe I could marry you off to some prince from another land. As it is,” your uncle shrugged, “all I can do is warn you. I’d tell you to stop, but I’m not your father, am I?”

You grimaced, “No, but you’re a better father than mine.”

“You’re speaking of my brother-in-law, you know,” your uncle huffed, “but,” he adjusted his grip, “you’re right. My sister’s husband wasn’t exactly the best sort of man. I always thought he was a bit immature, but what he did when your mom died? I still can’t fathom it.”

You nodded and admitted, “I sometimes wonder what it would’ve been like if he stayed.”

“You’d be a farmer’s daughter,” your uncle said, “so if you prefer the fields to the ovens, maybe it would’ve been better if he stayed.”

“I like the ovens well enough,” you chuckled, “I’d rather Auntie in my ear than getting my legs cut off by a scythe.”

“You heard old Martin got it good last turning-time, did you?” your uncles winced.

“Old Hutch told me it was a nasty wound,” you nodded, “he had to send him to The Axe for further treatment.”

“At least with The Axe around he can mend some of the worst wounds we get,” your uncle mused before a scowl dawned his face, “mind you, he only knows to heal as many wounds as he gives out.”

The thought of The Axe’s words from your last visit rang through your ears.

“I don’t think he likes hurting anyone though,” you said.

Your uncle shrugged, “Doesn’t matter if he likes it or not, he’s a torturer and an executioner by trade. That’s enough for me to make up my mind.”

“But can he really be anything else?” you asked as you stepped around a particularly large stone.

Your uncle shook his head, “As I said, he comes from a cursed line. His blood is tainted by generation on generation of curse. I’d be surprised if he can even sow another line if he tried with you.”

“Don’t be so crass,” you huffed.

“What?” your uncle chuckled, “it’s not like he’s got much to give any son of his. An old axe and a sorry story? I don’t think I’d want to be born to that, if you ask me.

“And anyways, would you want to give birth to any son of his?” your uncle asked you.

You thought for a moment. The thought of being a mother was always there; it was expected of you since birth. You were raised to be a mother much like any other young girl in the village. You were given dolls to care for and stories to lull your newborn to bed before you’d reached your third cycle. Being a mother and a homesteader was just what being a woman in the village meant. That was life. You’d never really paid too much thought to it. If anything, you didn’t even know if you’d ever take a husband. Sure, one day it would happen, but you never put much thought into it. Already most girls your age were married off with a troop of children around their hips. You were a bit of an outlier by now. But, the thought of having a husband and child comforted you at the very least. One day, soon enough, it would happen.

But you hadn’t thought of having children with The Axe. By the spirit realms, you hardly even knew what his face looked like! For all you knew, he was the ugliest man you’d ever lay your eyes on in your life. He could have a rotting face, for all you knew. And yet… The thought of a child with him didn’t sound half bad. It was a thought you’d have to play around with more after you’d gotten to know him better.

“You’re thinking of it now, aren’t you?” your uncle groaned, “by Halax, I shouldn’t have even said his name. I shouldn’t be talking about him with you at all!”

You rolled your eyes at that, “Well, you want to warn me, don’t you?”

“I’ve warned you plenty!” your uncle scoffed, “I keep telling you he’s bad news but you won’t have any of it!”

“I’m having some of it,” you retorted, “just not all of it.”

“Well go on and have some more because I’ve got plenty to give!” your uncle shook his head, “I mean, look, I can’t change your mind. Go and talk to Father Kim if you’re really interested in that man. Father Kim seems to know him best, at least. And if a holy man thinks that it’s a good idea, who am I to judge?”

“So you give me your blessing?” you asked hopefully.

Your uncle sighed, “Not now.”

“But maybe soon?” you prodded.

“Maybe,” your uncle conceded, “but not anytime soon. I still don’t even know the man.”

“But haven’t you given him his rations for years?” you asked quizzically.

“I have,” your uncle explained, “but he isn’t much of a talker. He’s a bit spooky, actually. He’s so quiet I might think he was a louse.”

Your thoughts drifted to when you ate sweet buns together in the forest again.

“I think he just needs some encouragement to talk,” you offered.

“You’ve chatted to him plenty, have you?” your uncle grumbled.

You flushed, “I’ve spoken to him in passing.”

“In passing,” your uncle drawled.

“In passing!” you bristled up.

“Calm yourself, you prickly little poke bear,” your uncle laughed, “you’re acting like a schoolgirl here!”

“I am not!” you huffed.

“You keep telling yourself that,” your uncle smiled knowingly, “you’re only digging a deeper hole for here.”

“I-” you cut yourself off, “I don’t need to hear any of this. I’m better than this.”

“Are you now?” your uncle cackled, “look, your father isn’t here. Somebody has to act the part while he’s gone.”

“And that person has to be you?” you grumbled.

Your uncle gestured to the wide open fields around you, “Who else do you see?”

You bit your tongue harshly. He had you there.

Your uncle laughed as he carted the wagon along the trail, happily poking fun at your ‘schoolgirl crush’ and your youth as he made his way along the old road. You, for your part, flushed up to your poor mortified ears and stayed that way for the rest of the journey. Your uncle took endless delight as he moved the cart along. With a sigh, you accepted fate and walked behind your uncle.

Your uncle only calmed his laughter once you broke through the forest. The cart caught on tangled weeds as you travelled down the lonesome road to the old hanging stone. The trees were thick enough to cast a haunting shade over the two of you. In woods like these, a highwayman could be hidden behind any tree. Suddenly, you were terribly glad to have your teasing uncle by your side. Even if he was an older man, he still had a good bread knife tied to his belt. You had your own little dagger, but your uncle was a seasoned man with a quick draw. It wasn’t much, but anything was better than giving in to whatever the highwaymen demanded.

Your uncle huffed and puffed as he pushed the wagon along the overgrown road. You only knew to follow the path because the trees had been artificially cleared generations before you, leaving a winding trail that snaked erratically through the woods. Evidently, the wood cutters had only cut through the easiest trees, unable to move the monoliths that stood along the edges of the waxing and waning road. In some parts, the wagon only just barely squeezed through the gaps in the trees. You wondered how any of the large carriages were able to make their way through the trees when they already pressed down on you, crushing you like insects under their wild thumb.

Ferns and flowers peeked from behind the old woods to wave in the passing wind. You watched Brak-Hah’s-Eye blink in and out above between the tall pines as you walked along. As you drew further and further into the woods, you felt the chill of shadows creeping up along the back of your neck.

You were blinded when you broke into the bright opening of the Criahlin’s stone. The black slate shone, polished of blood and grime to prepare for the coming day. Around the edge of the circle, stalls had been set up to welcome in any visitor in need of a sweetlin or a swintlin. Someone had set up a stall to shine shoes, another gave out bags of grain for cart beetles. You couldn’t help but be amazed by how so many were able to come and capitalize on the death of a criminal.

Already, a group of townsfolk had gathered around a large loch tree on the far edge of the clearing. Beside it, a long ladder had been placed, leading up to a long twineweed rope. You followed the rope up, up and up to a thick and heavy tree bough. It looked as thick as a man, but it had been cut off after a couple of lengths to prevent the tree from covering up the entire clearing. You had to wonder how often someone had to go up and trim it back to keep it from taking up the whole space.

By the bottom of the tree, Judge Holten sat on one of the large roots that jutted up from the loamy earth. Beside him, Father Kim looked out over the crowd, lips pressed into a thin line. His dark eyes darted side to side as he took in the familiar faces of his congregation. You wondered what he thought of you all.

In the stall nearest to you, you could see Nikto sitting and watching the crowd with an amused look in his eyes. By his side, bottles of eggs, vegetables and even meats were put on display with delicate care. He glanced over your way and waved at you and your uncle.

“Ah, friends!” he called out, “come take the stall beside me!”

Your uncle waved back and brought the cart as close as he could. When he stopped the cart by Nikto’s stall, the old northern man rose to his feet to help you and your uncle set up your display.

You worked quickly with the extra set of hands. A few times Nikto stopped to help your uncle set up his display in a more appealing way. You laughed at the sight, but thanked him nonetheless. Halax knew that your uncle needed the help.

“No no no,” Nikto grumbled as he took the spider buns from your uncle, “put these on the middle shelf. They’re cute and sweet, so people will see them better if you put them there. And put the smallest buns on top! Trust me on this, old man.”

Your uncle followed the other man’s words, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But who were you to argue with Nikto? All his displays were immaculate. Even the products themselves were made so perfectly that you couldn’t stop salivating at the sight of them.

“How do you know how to make everything look so nice?” you wondered as you followed his guidance.

“Secret tips from my mother back home,” Nikto’s eyes crinkled behind his wooden mask, “mother always knows best, you know?”

You faltered briefly before flashing a wide smile, “Well, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Nikto shook his head, “Mothers never leave their children, Criah doesn’t work that way. We always have our families with us.”

You smiled softly, “You think so?”

Nikto laughed heartily, “I know so! Mother never left. She’s always here,” Nikto thumped his chest before he leaned in conspiratorially, “and that’s how I know your uncle can’t set up a stall to save his life!”

You groaned but couldn’t hold back a laugh. Nikto was an odd man, but at least he was always a fun person to share company with. You shook your head and turned back to your stall.

“Well, it looks like we’re about ready to start selling,” you said as you admired the hard work.

“Can you manage the till?” your uncle asked.

“Are you offering to do the calling?” you replied.

Your uncle nodded and pointed over to the other stalls, “It looks like we don’t have much competition today.”

You glanced over at Nikto.

“My goods are meant to be brought home,” he shrugged, “not eaten here. Yours are better for the show.”

Right, the show. That was certainly one way of putting it.

“I can handle the crowds,” you told your uncle.

“Right then,” your uncle nodded, “I’ll head out and get to hawking.”

You watched your uncle walk out in the crowd, puff up his chest and call out in a big, booming voice. On que, a few customers eagerly turned and looked around before finding your stall and rushing forth. You didn’t understand how anybody was able to eat during these events, but evidently you were the odd one out.

Before long the line had formed and you were up on your feet exchanging coins for sweet and savoury buns. To your delight, a few customers immediately left your line to go over to Nikto’s stall to pick up some jars of his pickled goods. Nikto was never quite as popular, but having the top-selling stall beside him evidently did something for his numbers. A part of you wondered if he’d thought about this when inviting you over, but another part couldn’t care less. You were shopkeepers just the same as he was; you had to do whatever it took to make a good living in a small town. 

As the townsfolk came and left your stall, you did your best to focus on them rather than on the absence of the most prominent figure at the event. Wherever you looked, The Axe was notably absent. Of course you already knew where he was. He was probably bringing the poor victim to the gallows at that very moment. You knew the ritual well enough by now.

The executioner would go to the prison and then pick out the culprit. Then, the culprit would be carted to the outskirts of the forest, at which point The Axe and his victim would be dropped off and The Axe’s assistant would drive the cart back to the Axe’s home. Then, the Axe and his assistant would both make their way to the hanging site. Of course, the assistant would arrive first, and then the Axe would come through the clearing. Then, once they’d both arrived, the event would begin. That’s how it always was, it was how it always would be. A part of you wondered if there was another way. The thought of letting a murderer go free seemed unthinkable, but did they have to die themselves? You didn’t know. Somebody with more time on their hands might have been able to think over the problem more thoroughly, but as it was you only felt opposed to the executions, but weren’t able to think of any other good solution.

You watched the crowds slowly grow in number as they bumbled around your stall. The bread and buns were flying off the shelves at this point. Muffins were devoured before your very eyes. The throng of people was generating an electric buzz in the air, crackling with the winds through the trees. Judge Holten looked out over the crowd with a disdainful eye, Father Kim behind him with a more sympathetic expression. Even from here, you could see him shivering in the cool air. With how his hands had withered away, you figured they were probably more sensitive than ever.

Whispers rippled through the crowds. As with any gathering, you heard stories from all around the village. Some talked about the local drunk’s latest antics at the tavern. Another rumour was about what an old woman was doing with her pets in the shed out back. Someone mentioned that the butcher was getting a bit steep with his prices. Another said the nuns were getting frustrated with the lack of provisions provided to the church as of late. All these stories curled around the air with a whimsical twirl. The stories ranged from the banal to the completely bizarre in nature. The ones about the old woman and her pets stood out as a particularly egregious one.

You chuckled at the latest tidbit of gossip being thrown your way. You waved the man off with a big toothy grin and turned to help the next customer. To your surprise, it was none other than Salvatrice.

“Salv!” you beamed as you packed her usual order, “I didn’t think you were back yet!”

Salv played with an arrowhead between her fingers as she said, “Well, the raptor was pretty easy to track. It was too big to hide from me for long.”

“So, a successful hunt?” you asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Salv nodded, “a good hunt.”

“Great! So you’ll be selling it soon?” you queried.

“Once Tor breaks it down,” Salv frowned, “but he’s getting pricey these days.”

“So I heard,” you mentioned as you served a different customer.

“He’s asking for nearly a quarter of my wage now,” Salv grumbled, “I can’t keep up with that! Hunters don’t make that much, you know?”

“You’ve let me know a few times before,” you replied easily.

“Now he’s going around asking for a hundred stones. I can’t afford that! Nobody can!” Salv clenched her fist around the arrowhead.

“I’m sure the prices will go down,” you assured her, “Tor can’t keep charging those sorts of prices for long. The people in this village just can’t afford that.”

“Maybe, or maybe they’ll keep paying them because there’s nobody else,” Salv clenched her jaw tight.

“Well, I hope not,” you scrunched up your face, “I don’t want to think what people would do. The last cycle was bad enough as is.”

“I think it’s because of the last cycle that he’s charging these prices,” Salv shook her head, “he realised he can get away with it.”

“But those were desperate times,” you pointed out.

“And all the businesses took advantage of how vulnerable we all were,” Salv leveled a glare at you, “they learned from our weakness.”

You shook your head free of her thoughts, “No, I’m sure there’s a good reason. Tor isn’t a bad man. He’s not like that.”

“You say that,” Salv spat bitterly, “but I’m not so sure. I think he’s a blorgron.”

You glared at the dark haired hunter fiercely, “Don’t say that! We’re all just trying to recover after the flooding and droughts.”

“At the expense of the people!” Salv retorted.

You cringed and held up your hands meekly, “I don’t know. It’s not my place to say.”

Salv stared you down with coal-black eyes. Hot burning coals burned through your clothes to your very soul. Hatred, fury, injustice, it all flickered through her eyes before she settled on one final emotion: defeat.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she sighed, “you’re a vendor just like Tor. But,” she gave you a resigned half-smile, “you keep your prices affordable at least.”

“We try to,” you handed out another loaf of bread, “Uncle always wants to raise them up, but Auntie won’t let him.”

“She’s a damn good woman then,” Salv determined.

“She’s sometimes a good woman,” you grumbled, “she’s a slave driver if you ask me.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you,” Salv gruntled.

“I suppose so,” you said. You turned to say more to her when the crowd broke out into a roar.

Salv smirked as she took a bite of the beetle meat bun, “Looks like the show’s started.” 

Salv slunk into the obscurity of the crowd as you peered over the edge of your stall. You couldn’t help but stare as The Axe came into view, easily a head and shoulders above everyone else at the clearing. His hood fluttered around his clavicle with the wind as he strode forth. He looked around the clearing with blank eyes before they fell upon you. Immediately, they lit up with bright recognition, and just as they did, the light went out and he was back to the blank mask of before. You were the only person in the entire crowd to notice how he stumbled slightly when he moved past you to the Criahlin’s stone.

Once they got to the stage, the prisoner was finally revealed to you. A wiry man with a thin, pinched face. His eyes burned dark with a silent rage, furious and clawing inside him like a ravenous beast.

Judge Holten watched The Axe guide the man to the center of the stone, then down into a kneeling position. You winced sympathetically.

“Karl Hoffman,” Judge Holten pulled out his thick book of laws and perched it on his bulging stomach, “thirty-eight cycles, father of eight cycle Klara Hoffman and ten cycle Mathilde Hoffman. Husband of thirty–two cycle Martha Hoffman. Employed as a fishmonger, but was found out to have joined the Raptor’s Claws to steal a living as a highwayman.

“Karl Hoffman is accused of three charges of manslaughter, the assault and battery of two different women, battery of six different men, and accused of stealing over twenty thousand faces. For these charges he has been sentenced to death by choking,” Judge Holten smirked as he shut his book and tucked it under his corpulent arm and turned to face Karl, “you are a damned man, but I will be giving you one last chance at redemption. Do you take Halax as your lord above, in this life and beyond, forevermore?”

Karl turned his thin neck to glare down at Father Kim. You watched as Father Kim stood tall against the withering stare, unmoving in the face of evil. Karl pulled his head back, then spat directly into the priest’s face.

Karl turned back to look at Judge Holten’s reddening face and gave him a twisted grin with a mouth full of crooked teeth, “No sir, I don’t think I do.”

His whispering voice sent chills up your spine. The display itself was unthinkable. How anyone could revoke the name of Halax, especially in their dying moments, was beyond you. You stared, gobsmacked as Judge Holten awkwardly shifted his robes over his protruding belly and waddled side to side. Judge Holten glanced over to Father Kim, who had carefully used his coarse brown robe to wipe his face clean, marring the markings he’d painted onto his face that morning.

You glanced between the men as Judge Holten looked to Father Kim, he himself shaken by the flagrant display of utter disinterest in any form of honor or redemption for himself or his family. You trembled slightly as you waited for anything to happen.

Father Kim stepped forward and presented a bowl of black ink to Karl. The man tried to move out of the way, but The Axe clamped onto the back of his neck and kneeled into his legs. Father Kim gave the executioner a long, thankful look and then went on with his work. He gently placed his forefingers into the ink, then gently pressed them onto the man’s forehead. With a shudder of his shoulders, he painted a large eye on his forehead, then two slashes crossed over it. Father Kim rose back to his feet and steeped back with a mournful shake of his head. The Axe stepped back to hover by his side.

You watched as Judge Holten turned back to the crowd with a shaky breath. He looked up, his watery red-rimmed eyes glanced around before finally settling back on the crowd.

“Karl Hoffman has declared to the court that he does not wish to be reunited with Halax in the next realm. As such, he is declared lost, and Martha, Mathilde and Klara Hoffman are hereby stripped of their citizenship and declared lost as well,” even the horrible Judge Holten trembled like a leaf before he straightened up and turned to the hooded man by the back of the stage, “my Axe, if you’d please.”

The Axe stepped forward from the back of the stage to take the back of Karl Hoffman’s neck into his hand. He screamed bloody murder and thrashed against the giant man’s grip, kicking and spitting like a wild animal. The Axe tried desperately to give him one last chance of dignity by letting him walk up the ladder himself, but Karl immediately tried to dart into the woods. Within a couple of steps, The Axe had his hand back on the back of his neck and gripped it tight as he dragged the man back to the ladder. With one hand on the ladder and one on his victim’s neck, The Axe slowly crawled up the ladder while Karl dangled limply at his side. He tried to kick the ladder over but Father Kim was quick to stabilize the two. Karl screamed until his voice broke when The Axe rose to the top and finally looped a noose around Karl’s neck. With nothing left to do, The Axe slowly lowered Karl and left him to suffocate.

Karl kicked and gripped at the noose around his neck, lifting himself just barely to scream profanities at the gathered crowd. He spluttered and spat before he turned to his wife and cursed her and his children like nothing you’d ever heard before. Meanwhile, his wife watched him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Her rudy hair waved in the coming breeze as she watched her husband use his last moments not to declare his love to her, not to apologise for his actions, but to spew hatred the likes of which nobody there had ever seen. Even from here you could see her struggle to keep her wailing children at her side. Their littlest daughter stared up at her father with big black eyes, so much like her father’s but filled with sadness and love instead of hatred and fire. You could only imagine her asking her mother what it meant to be lost, what it meant now that their father was gone.

Karl Hoffman continued to kick and spit, but his grip grew weak and he slowly slumped into the noose. At that point, you turned away and focussed on packing up the rest of the bread. Some things were better left unseen.

Glossary

1. Halaxwake: The first day of the week/God-Watch

2. Poppernickens: A species of flower characterized by tiny five-petal flowers that grow in bunches along a tall stalk. Large round leaves shoot out along the bottoms of the stalks. The flower seeds can be ground to get a floral spice used in cooking. Leaves can be used as salves for burns.

3. Twineweed: A long vine once considered a pest plant, but is now used to weave fence posts together to create natural fences. The large white flowers are toxic to most animals, but the pollen has a pleasant smell that some people use as perfume.

4. Wink: An alcoholic beverage made from fermented fruits. Farmers often collect any fruit that spoils or grows poorly and use it to make wink for the end of the year. Each batch has its own individual taste. Usually, years with plenty of rain make the best wink.

5.  Vigil: A minute in their time, a bit over a minute in our time. Used as an expression for a short amount of time.

6. Elves: A warlike species known for being the best hunter/warriors on the continent. Their brutal culture is widely feared by others. Many believe that if elves were more intelligent, they would have organised to take over the continent and wipe out all other species. As it is, they are known for their brawn more than their brain, and thankfully they are too curious and entertained by other cultures to attempt genocide. They find all other species weak, but amusing enough to take as slaves for their own entertainment.

7.  Brak-Hah’s-Eye: The sun, the center of their solar system

8.  Corpse Flowers: A group of species of flowers that grow near decay. They are often seen as cursed flowers, and use of them is heavily prohibited by most laws. However, they are known to be excellent pain killers and excellent disinfectants. Have a notably bitter, sour taste. Look somewhat like snowbells or lady’s slippers.

9.  Turning-Time: Season

10.  Poke Bear: A tiny species of bear covered in spines. The animal will occasionally roll into a ball and charge downhill at its prey. Other times, it uses its long spined tail to defend against larger predators.

11.  Sweetlin: A round, sweet fruit, much like an apple but larger and more filling.

12.  Swintlin: A very sour fruit covered in a thick, black skin. Very citrusy and used in both sweet and savoury cooking and baking.

13.  Loch Tree: A type of coniferous tree that grows in the northern Mormonian forests. Grows to eighteen meters in height with long branches spiralling around to form a canopy below. The pine needles are hard, and often used as sewing needles to make clothes. The sap can be used for glue. The wood is notably difficult to work with because it is so hard, and it has a strong smell that lingers for years to come. Makes poor firewood because the sap forms large pockets in the wood, and when heated up explodes.

14.  Stone: Slang for a face. A face can be broken into one hundred fragments, which refers to cents. Every face is composed of one hundred fragments. Slang for a face is a stone, slang for a fragment is a pebble. Used as currency.

15.  Blorgron: A large, fat and unintelligent lizard with a broad head and a stumpy jaw. Equivalent to a pig, but a simple herd animal. Known for being simple minded and territorial over food. Often considered to be symbols of gluttony.

16.  Declared Lost: When an individual is legally declared lost, they lose their rights as a citizen in their nation. They are considered lost from the light of any god, and as such are considered lesser citizens. They cannot vote, cannot marry nor divorce, cannot receive medical treatment or any form of charity from the community. Many fall into complete poverty as others refuse to be associated in any way, lest they be dragged down with the lost ones. To be declared lost is the greatest social punishment a court can give out. Many will leave to go into exile because of the shame of being lost.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

Full Fic on KoFi Here

[kibo-no-akademi]

Father

[grandcovenant]

who's pulling the strings of the puppet king?

[kirby-the-gorb]

[steakout-05]

so i kinda learned how to draw Captain Picard for my dad's birthday card and i am quite proud of it :D

[desperatecheesecubes]

I do actually find the phenomenon of people writing fanfic based off of other fanfics really odd though. The echo chamber fan base my deeply confused. I've seen some of the most fascinating character takes in there. Like I'm not going to say they're wrong because at the end of the day it's just fandom but I will say that I have absolutely no idea what's going on with that.

[astranauticus]

a handful of chinese songs that give me big robit energy

translating cpop songs is like my second favourite hobby so it's frankly surprising I haven't made this post sooner

Him - Floruitshow (马 - 福禄寿)

I've talked about this song on here before but this is the 3.7 song for me

the second chorus is definitely MR-SN but i like to think of the first chorus (Let me take a good look at your visage as we count down the time till the curtains’ close. Forgive me for holding back my voice so soon, do you know, in your graceful escape, all I see around me is disaster?) as VR-LA during the flashback sequence

specifically 'all I see around me is disaster' because yeah not wrong

'This time I’m not here to bring you home' just kills me like the please please take care of yourself because I can't be there with you anymore of it all

'Oh spring, oh warm sun, please come sooner, grant him a smooth and safe journey' same point, just the desperate plea for the universe to protect VR-LA because he can't do it himself anymore

How can I make you stay - Floruitshow (我用什么把你留住 - 福禄寿)

(conveniently I have actually done a full translation of this song!)

definitely one of the Maxim songs of all time

"You’ve believed that you can let your life pass in numbness, but [...] why do your tears fall in the moment of letting go?' YEAH because we've seen so many times how Maxim keeps trying to convince himself that he can stop just caring but it never works

'You say don’t fall in love, yet you’re unwilling to let go' same point, this man is in such denial about how he just can't stop caring

specifically the second verse feels a lot like Maxim waiting for VR-LA to return from Tu'narath

'You stay silent, holding onto starlight as you wait through your darkest hour. Your mind is struck, when familiar murmurs pierce your ears once more' aaaAAAAHH

the bridge (?) as a conversation between VR-LA and Maxim, VR-LA inviting Maxim to see the beauty and wonders of the world ('Do you want to see the sea of flowers blooming?', very 4.5 wedding invite honestly) but Maxim's trauma just would not allow him to take that risk ('If none of them come back, then who should I live for?')

fun fact the second version of the bridge in my translation ('You must stay to see the flowers bloom' onwards) is exclusive to that live performance of the song so it's not in the spotify version i linked here. as for which version you think fits Maxim more.. well.

Borrow - Mao Buyi (借 - 毛不易)

finally banging out a translation for this song was kinda the inspiration for me to make this post actually

the tldr of this song is that it's an unnamed/unidentified speaker asking to borrow various small things for the sake of somebody else (like 'an inch of frozen sunlight' to provide warmth in a cold world) so you can probably see where i'm going with this

'A simple ‘we have plenty of time’ etched into the soul to prepare for the chance of forced separation' ouch ow okay

'Those blown apart by these winds will say that they never loved deeply' / 'There is a sincerity that cannot be blown apart by this wind' DX-TR betraying the old crew vs VR-LA fighting through so much just to get them back

'There are tears that cannot be washed away by this rain' this line just haunts me. like in general

'An acre of land for him to call home, an ordinary life for him to live' as MR-SN watching over the old crew like I can't be there for you but I hope you will find peace and a home...

[keeps-ache]

ggghhg i hate vehiclessssssss ghghghhghhhhh [dies dies dies forever]

[sidereon-spaceace]

Oh god I forgot about Kaz

[astronicht]

Okay I'm almost done with Fellowship, here's an incomplete list of shit I noticed and thought was buck fucking wild on my first ever read-thru: medieval edition.

In literally the second line of the book, Tolkien implies that Bilbo Baggins wrote a story which was preserved alongside the in-universe version of the Mabinogion (aka the best-known collection of Welsh myths; I promise this is batshit). This is because The Hobbit has been preserved, in Tolkien's AU version of our world, in a "selection of the Red Book of Westmarch" (Prologue, Concerning Hobbits). If you're a medievalist and you see something called "The Red Book of" or "The Black Book of" etc it's a Thing. In this case, a cheeky reference to the Red Book of Hergest (Llyfr Coch Hergest). There are a few Red Books, but only Hergest has stories).

not a medieval thing but i did not expect one common theory among hobbits for the death of Frodo's parents to be A RUMORED MURDER-SUICIDE.

At the beginning of the book a few hobbits report seeing a moving elm tree up on the moors, heading west (thru or past the Shire). I mentioned this in another post, but another rule: if you see an elm tree, that's a Girl Tree. In Norse creation myth, the first people were carved from driftwood by the gods. Their names were Askr (Ash, as in the tree), the first man, and Embla (debated, but likely elm tree), the first woman. A lot of ppl have I think guessed that that was an ent-wife, but like. Literally that was a GIRL. TREE.

Medieval thing: I used to read the runes on the covers of The Hobbit and LOTR for fun when I worked in a bookshop. There's a mix of Old Norse (viking) and Old English runes in use, but all the ones I've noticed so far are real and readable if you know runes.

Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you once spent months of your life researching the early medieval art of galdor, which was the use of poems or songs to do a form of word-magic, often incorporating gibberish. If you think maybe Tolkien did not base the entirety of Fellowship so far around learning and using galdor and thus the power of words and stories, that is fine I cannot force you. He did personally translate "galdor" in Beowulf as "spell" (spell, amusingly, used to mean "story"). And also he named an elf Galdor. Like he very much did name an elf Galdor.

Tom Bombadil in fact does galdor from the moment we meet him. He arrives and fights the evil galdor (song) of the willow tree ("old gray willow-man, he's a mighty singer"), which is singing the hobbits to sleep and possibly eating them, with a galdor (song) of his own. Then he wanders off still singing, incorporating gibberish. I think it was at this point that I started clawing my face.

THEN Tom Bombadil makes perfect sense if you've read the description of the scop's songs in Beowulf (Beowulf again, but hey, Tolkien did famously a. translate it b. write a fanfiction about it called Sellic Spell where he gave Beowulf an arguably homoerotic Best Friend). The scop (pronounched shop) is a poet who sings about deeds on earth, but also by profession must know how to sing the song or tell the story of how the cosmos itself came to be. The wise-singer who knows the deep lore of the early universe is a standard trope in Old English literature, not just Beowulf! Anyway Tom Bombadil takes everyone home and tells them THE ENTIRE STORY OF ALL THE AGES OF THE EARTH BACKWARDS UNTIL JUST BEFORE THE MOMENT OF CREATION, THE BIG BANG ITSELF and then Frodo Baggins falls asleep.

Tom Bombadil knows about plate tectonics

This is sort of a lie, Tom Bombadil describes the oceans of old being in a different place, which works as a standard visual of Old English creation, which being Christian followed vaguely Genesis lines, and vaguely Christian Genesis involves a lot of water. TOLKIEN knew about plate tectonics though.

Actually I just checked whether Tolkien knew about plate tectonics because I know the advent of plate tectonics theory took forever bc people HATED it and Alfred Wegener suffered for like 50 years. So! actually while Tolkien was writing LOTR, the scientific community was literally still not sure plate tectonics existed. Tom Bombadil knew tho.

Remember that next time you (a geologist) are forced to look at the Middle Earth map.

I'm not even done with Tom Bombadil but I'm stopping here tonight. Plate tectonics got me. There's a great early (but almost high!) medieval treatise on cosmology and also volcanoes and i wonder if tolkien read it. oh my god. i'm going to bed.

edit: part II

[yyokkki]

Asking to Sketch Them

---

*cough* I forgot this series was a thing I was doing uwu

---

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia

"Oh? How bold of you to think you could capture my visage in a mere canvas."

He says with the goofiest smile imaginable（⌒▽⌒）

He's already summoning a chair to sit on

Very experienced with posing so it's a breeze

You have a nice chat about philosophy, gargoyles and culture while you draw him

When you're done he's fangirling internally

Asks if he can commission you to draw a portrait of the both of you tgt

Hangs it up in his room <3

Becomes a regular commissioner

Mostly gargoyles

10/10 honestly nothing bad to say he's lovely

Lilia Vanrouge

"Fufufu, I've been in thousands of portraits over the years, you'll have to try your hardest to really impress me~ No pressure though!"

100% pressure once again

The old bat man will probably be hanging from the ceiling no negotiating

So it's either you draw him upside down or get upside down too

If you choose the second option you best hope no one walks in on you cuz damn wtf

How are you doing that you aren't even using magic???

When you're finished he jumps down and looks and goes

"How nice! Art has truly evolved so much since the last time I had one done~"

Starts showing you some of the portraits he had before like he's showing you baby pics

One of them has him looking like those medieval babies TT

4/10 I can't explain why I'm not giving him a lower score he's just funky

Silver

"No problem. If I fall asleep you can just wake me up, I won't mind."

He doesn't have much experience in posing but he's a natural

He's lookin like a disney princess fr, animals have started gathering

You're having a pleasant chat abou-

Oop he fell asleep

You think about waking him up but like

He looks so peaceful and like he's not even really moving so-

By the time you're done he's probably up and he starts apologizing

Tbh it's Silver so it would've been beautiful whether he was awake or asleep

Bonus points if you include the woodland critters snuggling into him

Human anatomy AND animal anatomy practice!!

9/10 he tried his best and it did turn out well

Sebek Zigvolt

"I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS HUMAN! MY VALUABLE TIME IS SPENT GUARDING AND PROTECTING THE HONOUR OF THE GLORIOUS YOUN-"

once again someone kiss him and shut him up omg

Or actually just show him the Malleus portrait he'll shut up

Yeah you have to do Malleus first if you wanna draw him

Stiff like a ramrod his face looks constipated

Ask him a question about his young master and he forgets he's being drawn in exactly 3 seconds

His face really lights up as he talks about him it's kinda cute

By the time you're done he's probably still talking so interrupt in a speech break

Thinks you did a good job and asks for some advice with art

Then starts trying to buy the malleus portrait off of you

I should've tried harder to not make 80% of his just him talking about the dragon boi but it's really hard cuz he's just him TT

7/10 he's not that bad but your ears are bleeding

-----

Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia

[lucysarah-c]

Masterlist!

All my Levi x reader fanfics and Levi fanart

Art Commission: OPEN!

Writing Requests: CLOSED!

Headcanons and asks:

-> Little "toxic" things Levi does as a boyfriend

-> Levi dating a Swifty

-> Levi's s/o telling him she's pregnant

-> Virgin! Levi

-> Sexism in AoT

-> Homosexuality in AoT

-> Levi showing affection to his S/O in front of his kids

-> Levi having competition to wins your heart!

-> Canon! Levi (Scouts time) views on kids, marriage and romantic relationships

-> Alpha! Levi believes you would be a good mommy of his spawns

-> Wishing to be breed by Levi.

-> Levi accusing his partner of cheating?

-> Is Levi a virgin?

-> Is Levi conservative?

-> Levi's S/O with a contagious weird laugh

-> Levi in love

-> Connie having a crush on Levi's girlfriend

-> Levi reacting to his girlfriend giving birth

-> Petnames that Levi would use

-> Levi's reaction to his S/O getting assaulted NSFW

-> Levi's kinks

HEADCANONS MASTERLIST PART 2

I've reached the limit of this a single post by tumblr for links so. . . here's another masterlist lol.

One-Shots:

-> Ackerman’s blood

Levi fears for the first time that perhaps his Ackerman's powers aren't a bleassing when his son suffers the consequences of them. Dad! Levi x Reader

-> Stoppers (NSFW!!)

Levi feels overwhelming jealous and decides that there's nothing better to set things clear of who owns who than a good old fucking. Levi x Reader.

-> Criminal Record Part 1 - Part 2

Levi insist he has done worse things in his life than, perhaps, sleeping with a subordinate.

-> Traidor

2020 what a time to be alive. The snk character are doing the same as old of us trying to survive the lockdown... playing among us! Levi x reader.

-> Father’s day

Having a soldier as a father is never easy, way less when your father is Humanity's strongest soldier. Levi's kid has the perfect gift but perhaps it's not the perfect scenario. Dad! Levi x Mom! reader

-> Couple goals

Levi hates military's formal events and you know it. Both of you still make the perfect team.

-> Baby boy

Hang out with your higher-ups as you just become Levi's girlfriend. What's the worse thing that could happen? Spoiler alert: Eren is not going to forget about this... neither Erwin.

-> Scratches down his back NSFW-ish

Repeat after me, nothing good happens in the common showers unless it’s Levi sandwiching you with the wet wall. Sadly, this is not the case. So, nothing good will happen. 

-> Blackfire

Erwin insists that Levi should educate his squad on certain topics proper of their age. Levi isn't really convinced but Commander's orders are Commander's orders… However, Erwin didn't specify on what he should educate his bratty cadets about. Levi x reader!

-> ANGEL

You met Captain Levi while working as a teacher at one of the new orphanages that Queen Historia created. He seems so willying to help. (YANDERE! Levi x reader NSFW!!)

-> Tea time

Levi is deep down a huge gossip old lady. Levi x reader

-> An Old-fashioned Girl

You're a teen living her normal life until she travelled back on time to aot period.

-> Self-sabotage

Erwin begs Levi to buy him a coffee on his way to university. Having a crush in a barista is so hard when you don't like coffee. (Modern au! University student Levi having a crush on a barista)

-> Not in season? NSFW! Part 1 - Part 2

Winter had settled in, and the scouts were busy training and preparing for the prospects of spring, still far away, to retake Wall Maria. Despite the snow accumulating outside, the building was freezing cold, and the world had secluded itself until the temperature rose. So, why was Captain Levi boiling in his own body? Something felt off, but his mind was quickly slipping into insanity as he tried to find a rational explanation. OMEGAVERSE ALPHA LEVI X OMEGA READER.

-> Levi and the first encounter! Underground! Levi

Tales of Levi's life in the underground.

-> EXPLANATION OMEGAVERSE AU

-> Fifteen, what an age to be alive!

Steal your father's car! What could go wrong? Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader

-> Laundry Problems

Levi's a very stoic calm man. He always does laundry but as a unknown piece of clothe appear, Levi's life flash before his eyes. Levi x reader

-> Bed-head Levi

How are Captain Levi's mornings?

-> Boop! You've been chosen!

Levi and you decide to adopt a kitty.

-> My Teen! Levi's modern AU stories.

There's a lot of them so here's a link to all of them.

-> EUPHEMISMS (NSFW-ish)

Levi may not have attended school, but he knows a thing or two about pregnancy… and also periods. (Levi takes care of you during your period)

-> Transactional (PURE NSFW!!!)

When you go to ask Captain Levi for a promotion, it's important to remain humble.

-> Mother's smile (Dad! Levi angst)

Levi's son feels the pressure of being an Ackerman.

Little Pieces I Wrote (Self-Explanatory Titles).

-> Levi isn't romantic

-> Levi as a father part 1 part2

-> Unpopular aot opinions

-> Levi growing up in the underground 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8,

-> Levi's morning with happy ending NSFW

-> Sick clingy Levi NSFWish

-> Soft Levi NSFWish

-> Horny Levi x nurse! reader NSFW

-> Levi x Passenger princess reader

-> Travelling with Levi

-> Girlfriend effect on Levi!

-> Levi loving calling his girlfriend "wife"

-> Levi and farlan as roomies

-> Levi as the father of a baby boy

-> Being humanity's strongest baby girl

-> SnK boys and pilates.

-> Levi's baby thinks Levi's tight chess works as mommy's chest lol

-> Erwin finds out that now Levi is busy at night 👀

-> Levi's only weakness... You, you and a sundress

-> Sexually frustrated Levi

-> Levi = female gaze

-> Levi using you as an excuse for anything

-> Modern au! Levi was a very attentive fuck buddy, even more attentive as a boyfriend.

-> Your horse doesn't want to share you with Levi.

-> Levi's daughter

-> Erwin introduce you to Levi

-> Rambling about gossip to your boyfriend while stealing his food >>> anything else

-> Deadly Occasion (Levi is forced to marry someone else) NSFW

-> Drunk Levi? Better say needy Levi! NSFW

-> Walking down the streets with Levi

-> Princess treatment + Levi

Mounting Spring (Alpha! Levi x Omega! Reader)

Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults.

Levi's horrible flirting skills!

Short multichapter where we follow Levi's awkward attempts to win the reader over.

Holy Ground (longfic! Levi x reader)

"Alright, get comfortable because this is going to be a long, crappy tale. Join me as we travel down memory lane, back when Erwin wasn't yet a commander, when Mike and Nanaba couldn't keep their hands off each other, when Hange was... well, Hange. And Levi? Well, Levi was a twenty-four-year-old man who didn't give a damn about the rules. Are you ready?"

600! Followers event!

Have you ever wished you could ask Captain Levi a few questions and see his reaction? Well! say no more! I left Levi incharge of my blog for a few days. Enjoy the comic with hisreactions!

2k! Followers event!

Have you ever wished you could ask Captain Levi a few questions and see his reaction? Well! say no more! I left Levi incharge of my blog for a few days. Enjoy the comic with hisreactions! Part 2! Levi's revenge.

SnK Incorrect Quotes:

63 and COUNTING silly posts of quotes that I think snk characters would say.

You think that art looks cute? I draw it! Here's a link to a few of my other pieces!

WANNA JOIN MY TAG LIST SO YOU DON’T LOSE A SINGLE POST? HERE!

[troonwolf]

Honestly they’ve been making unhinged posts about me since I blocked them. And I don’t mean just disagreeing with stuff I said or whatever, I don’t care about that. I mean stuff like, I changed my blog header and aesthetic once to match my art at the time and he started telling everyone I was copying his blog, WHEN I WAS USING THAT AESTHETIC TO SHOWCASE MY ART.

And I’ve just been overall ignoring it but now he’s telling people in fandom that ‘m dangerous and toxic and I don’t think I can just be quiet or make snide vagues in response lol. Like you’re telling people who i potentially care about (because literally everyone I know uses Ao3), that I think they’re paedophiles. And that if someone likes x franchise I’m going to harass them. Like BRO.

[vivwritesfics]

Ink

Monaco Tattoo Parlour might be one of the most famous studios in the world. Famed for its incredible work and incredibly attractive artist. Appointment are booked a year in advance. But Charles Leclerc is worth it

Viv's AUgust Event

(Banner by @nurse-floyd )

Sucking in a breath, she walked into the Monaco Tattoo Parlour. A little studio in Italy. There was only one artist, one chair in the studio. The artist was world renowned; people travelled from all over to have him ink their skin.

His art decorated the walls. God, he was talented, but she knew that already. From all of the hours spent scrolling through his social media as she waited to get an appointment with him.

"Can I help you?" Asked the receptionist. His baby brother, she knew from the shops social media. His accent wasn't Italian, but that was because they'd moved over here from Monaco.

Her smile was polite, a little nervous as she approached the front desk. "I've got an appointment with Charles," she said and gave him her name.

He searched through his laptop for a moment before pulling a few bits of paper from the desk drawers. "Fill these out and Charles will be right over," he said and gestured to the seating area.

She sat down and began filling out the paper. As she did, she looked at the flash on the walls. It was all beautiful, all done by Charles Leclerc.

She handed the filled out paperwork back to his brother and sat back in her seat. She'd get any number of these tattoos on her body. Fifteen minutes later, Charles Leclerc called her over to his chair.

He was perfectly polite as he showed her the designs. She told him where she wanted the delicate, flowery pattern and he placed the stencil against his skin. It took a couple of tries before the placement was exactly where she wanted it.

Charles laid her on her side. He pulled on his clear gloves and began tattooing.

He worked mostly in silence, humming to himself. She was fully aware of the nimble fingers working on inking her skin, at the beautiful way he moved.

He was beautiful. Too beautiful to be a tattoo artist. He could have been a model, but here he was, giving the world his art. "Your flash is gorgeous," she said through shuddering breaths as he tattooed over her ribs. It hurt, but it didn't exactly feel bad.

"Thank you," he said, his concentration still on the tattoo. It was turning out beautiful, just as all of his work did. "Is this your first?"

"Yeah," she answered and Charles let out a whistle.

"This is interesting placement for a first tattoo," he said through a chuckle.

She tried to laugh along with him. "Next one will be a piece of cake, right?" She asked and he let out another chuckle. It was a melodic sound, one that filled the room, make it seem lighter, somehow.

There was a reason the shop had such good reviews.

When she asked for a break, for some water, Charles happily gave it to her. He slightly rolled up his sleeve, revealing half of the tattoos snaking up his arms. "Who did your tattoos?" She found herself asking as she laid back down.

After stalking his Instagram for the last few months, there weren't many questions she had. She knew everything she needed, everything but this.

There was a beat of silence, a long pause in which the tattoo gun came to life. For a moment she was worried, afraid that she had offended him. But then he spoke. "An old friend," he answered, sighing through his nostrils. "An old friend did them for me."

"Must be nice," she mumbled. She tried to keep her body still, to not jolt when the machine touched her skin. "Having somebody you trust permanently alter your skin."

It was over much quicker than she wanted it to be. The tattoo process was enjoyable, as was being around Charles. He placed the second skin on the flowers dancing down her rib cage and walked with her over to Arthur's desk.

Charles effectively pushed his little brother out of the way. He told her the price and held out the card reader for her to pay.

"What do you say, have I got a customer for life?" He asked, wearing a cheeky smile as she pressed the buttons on the card reader.

A slight laugh left her lips. "What does that include? Coming back to Italy every time I want a tattoo?" She asked as she pulled her card from the machine and placed it back in her purse.

He couldn't hide his grin as he placed the card machine down and grabbed a piece of paper with care instructions on it. The fact that he had one printed up in her language showed just how diverse his clientele was.

"Trust me, chérie, I'm worth it," he said as she shoved the aftercare sheet into her bag.

Her smile was shy, almost bashful as she tried to meet the eye of the handsome tattoo artist. "Trust me, Charles," she mimicked, nails drumming against the reception desk. "I know."