#I can tell this is you pyrite

[onion-makes-stimboards]

Can u do a stimboard based on the leafy plush — that is, the official plush of Leafy bfdi? thank you ^_^

!!Leafy Plushie Stimboard!!

(Pyrite I know this is you.)

1--2--3--4--5--6--7--8

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[crusty-chronicles]

Hiei Courting Headcannons

In honor of the Live Action series (Even though I don't Have High Hopes For It)

Now, we all know Hiei is a very stubborn demon. Especially when it comes to his feelings. When he realized he liked you and didn't just tolerate your presence, he fought hard to deny it.

So what if he spent most of his time with you? Who cares that the first place he goes to after coming back from the demon world is your house? It didn't matter that his eyes seemed to soften whenever you were around.

No not one bit.

But the second Kurama threatened to court you himself, well Hiei couldn't just sit down and let that happen. Didn't that fox understand he shouldn't touch what wasn't his.

1. Showing off to see if you're interested

Hiei may be a demon, but he has some semblance of manners. His pride wouldn't allow him to claim you until you accepted his advances. Any creature who dared force themselves onto another was the lowest of the lowest.

So, his first step is showing off during fights.

Letting the enemy bloody him up more to show that injury didn't affect him.

Using more spirit energy than was needed to end another demon with just one blow

Stopping you from fighting because he'll "take care of it. You humans are too fragile."

He'll also use his Jagan more frequently.

You lost something?

Well look no further, he can track it down precisely and easily.

Praise him even once or say in passing he's really strong, and he'll take that as you being interested.

Even if you're just trying to be nice.

2. Wearing Richer Colors

I firmly believe Hiei courts more like a crow than the usual beast. He's sleek like one anyways.

Now if you didn't know, most birds attract mates with their bright feathers.

In Hiei's case, he'll start to wear dark, yet rich colors to get your attention.

Strength is one thing. Any low-class demon can demonstrate strength and be happy about it.

What Hiei is looking for is to see if you're attracted to him. If you find him visually appealing.

Though he's not a vain creature, he still yearns for the confirmation that him and him alone captivates you.

He'll start with darker blues. Maybe change up his cloak a little.

And when that doesn't work, he moves onto purples. Getting teased by Kurama for 'changing up his style.' But he stays determined.

Eventually moving onto a burgundy. And the way you were immediately drawn to him then made it worth it.

Relishing in your compliments on how 'the color really suits him' and 'it matches his eyes perfectly.'

Letting you grab at the fabric and inspect it until he asks why you like it so much.

"Well I always thought your eyes were pretty. It's nice to see something that reminds me of them."

He's a prideful smug bastard after that. Not even comments from Yusuke can tick him off that day.

3. Bringing You Shiny Objects

Once again, he courts like a crow.

Now that you've shown interest in him, it's time to properly start showing his affections.

Hiei isn't one for flirting or compliments. He's more prone to showing rather than telling. And in this case the way to do that is to bring you little trinkets that catch his eye.

Usually, it'll be small gems he stumbles across in demon world.

Rubies, diamonds, and emeralds. All things he knows where to find thanks to his prior occupation as a thief.

He's not trying to buy your affection. He knows you're not that vain judging by the pushback you always give when he presents you with a jewel.

No, rather he's trying to show that he can provide for you. That you'd never have to worry about scrounging around to survive as long as he was with you.

A protector and a provider.

He also notices how you treasure the less valuable items with as much fondness and care as the others.

He had asked you why you slept with a chunk of pyrite on your bedside one time. And your response let him know he wouldn't give up on pursuing you anytime soon.

"Because it was one of the first things you gave me. Don't you remember? You said something along the lines of fool's gold for a fool's heart. I think it's sweet you even got me something at all."

You didn't care about what he brought you. All that mattered was that it came from him.

If that didn't mean you accepted his advances, then he didn't know what would.

4. Scenting

Ah, yes. Back to the classics

Once you've accepted the gifts he's continuously given you, Hiei takes it as you liking him back.

He's aware human and demon courting processes are very different from one another.

But he's exactly not human, is he?

When it comes to demons, once you've accepted their advances, your mates.

In a sense, it's like dating. Only except a dissatisfied partner will kill the other in most cases.

With this in mind, Hiei happily accepts the fact you're his and immediately moves onto the final stage of courting.

Scenting you so that other demons know to back off.

Think of it as your last out if you realize what's happening and actually don't have feelings for him.

The scenting process will start with Hiei showing up to your place of residence and staying with you.

Not yet following you around, but making sure to spend time in each room.

If he has to leave somewhere, he'll leave either an article of clothing or his sword.

It confuses you at first and you think maybe he just trusts you.

But you start to think otherwise when he starts getting touchy.

Laying in your lap and ordering you to stay still, only to find out he's fallen asleep on you.

Or letting his face rest against the crook of your neck. Which you didn't mind all that much.

It was quite funny to see someone as tough as Hiei become completely docile around you.

You weren't too worried until he followed you out when you went to buy groceries.

"You don't like being around people. Don't you wanna stay home until I get back?" You asked him.

"I've already shown you that you're a very fragile creature compared to me. It's best I accompany you so you don't hurt yourself."

Usually you would have argued back, but it was clear something was off with him.

These past few months had been strange with him either trying to get your attention or trying to stay directly next to you.

You wouldn't figure out what it was until your other three friends showed up.

Kuwabara wanting to have a movie night and you offering your home to do it.

When the three of them arrived, you noticed Kurama and Yusuke hesitate by the entrance.

"Something wrong?" You questioned.

" I can't put my finger on it, but something's telling me I shouldn't go in." Yusuke responded.

Unawares it was Hiei's scent warding him off.

But Kurama knew. He'd known since you opened the door.

It seems Hiei had staked his claim on you.

Yet judging by your calm demeanor, you didn't know that yet.

"Have you noticed Hiei acting strange lately?" Kurama asked.

"Yes! I thought I was the only one. He's been really clingy. I mean at first it was odd he kept bringing me stuff like gems, but then he started following me around like a house cat. It's endearing, but honestly what's going on with him?" You ranted. Prompting a laugh from the redhead.

"I see. Good luck on your new relationship."

Before you could question him about what he meant, a gentle grip around your waist stopped you.

"What're you doing inviting these fools to our home. You know how long it took me to get rid of their scent the first time? It's like you want me to start the whole courting process all over again."

Courting?

Oh.

Oh.

You couldn't say you minded now that you knew what was actually going on.

[preciouslandmermaid]

The Gods gave mortals magic, but every gift has a price.

Maeve, a priestess of Juno, has her idyllic life turned upside down after her home is ravaged by the ambitious and delirious ex-king Hagken.

As Maeve is emboldened by Juno’s divine power, she will stop at nothing to prevent this war before it begins. She forms an unlikely alliance with an expelled alchemist and Hagken’s prior spymaster, Alistair, who shares they have a personal vendetta against the king.

In the city of Pyrite, where magic and alchemy thrive, Maeve must navigate the unfamiliar waters of political intrigue, combat forbidden spirit magic, contend with her faith, and discover what it means to reshape her dreams, her destiny—and the destinies of others.

What readers are saying;

⭐ Our main female character was wonderful , and the self journey she goes through along side what she's trying to accomplish to help her people is so well written. I seriously cannot tell you how much I loved this book...

⭐ Maiden of Dawn is an absolutely refreshing delight for anyone who loves fantasy and/or queer stories. 

⭐ This debut Romantasy takes the genre into the future! The arc of the MC is not just a romantic one, but a journey of self actualization and spiritual discovery!

Maiden of Dawn is an emotional high fantasy, queer romance novel with a cast of gender non-conforming characters, disabled characters, lush world building and complex antagonists that is sure to drawn you in.

E-Book $3.99 (USD) / Paperback $13.99 (USD)

You can order it wherever books are sold :: B&N, Amazon, or by contacting your local bookseller and asking them to order it.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Pyrite - Final Chapter: Valonqar

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Daemon gets to know the joys of quarantine and faces conflicting feelings in the hours after Otto's and Mellos’ execution.

Warnings: Execution (Via beheading) Mentions of abortion. Mentions of physical violence. Dub con (Reader is given a choice but due to the nature of the power imbalance between Daemon and her, she doesn't really have one)Implied smut. Unhappy ending for anyone except Viserys.

A/N: I am sorry to the requester, I deviated a bit. But we are done!!!!

Daemon grabbed you by the arm and dragged you towards his chambers. He was not happy about being on babysitting duty, but he knew it was the only thing they could do. Without his protection, you would not last a day out there. He had been able to read the truth from your face after just one conversation. Otto Hightower was much more shrewd than him, you would break in seconds.

He supposed Aemma could keep you in her rooms and prevent the scandal. But privately, Viserys had confessed he feared she had gone mad with grief. He did not trust her to be in the same room as you without clawing your eyes out. Daemon did not understand her actions, since you had tried to help her, but he wasn't a mother either. Aemma seemed traumatized by her child's death.

She cursed your name for having your letter arrive too late. Daemon was not a woman. Nor did he presume to know the mind of one, but it seemed a little unfair. You had looked out for her at your own risk, yet Aemma still wanted more.

Viserys could not keep you, either. He was too afraid for his reputation, now that he was about to become a King. What would people think of a servant girl being kept in his rooms?

He didn't admit it, of course, saying that he was only looking out for your honor, but Daemon could tell that Viserys lusted for the throne. Now that he was so close, that he had lost so much on his quest for it, he was not going to lose it for an insignificant girl.

If he truly cared for your reputation, Viserys would have never agreed to keeping you in Daemon's chambers. Who would marry you, after? Everyone knew what Daemon liked, after all. Young maidens, all soft limbs and cute little faces, all for him to ruin. What commoner would want you after being a Prince's whore?

He wasn't planning on touching you, at first. But the way you looked up at him, all frightened eyes, while sitting on one of his chairs, made his cock twitch with interest.

You were a pretty crier. It was something Daemon had noticed when you were discovered. Your eyes would get glassy, and your lower lip would stick out in the slightest pout. You looked good enough to eat.

He could not wait to see you cry on his cock. But if he acted too soon, you would hate him for it. And they needed to be in your good graces so you didn't do anything stupid on the trial.

It was going to be hard, Daemon thought, as he took a look at your face. Aemma had done a number on you, and his retrieval hadn't been entirely gentle either.

You sniffled, pitifully. Daemon kneeled in front of you with a sigh.

“Let me look at your head.”

You gave him a distrustful look.

“I am not going to hurt you. I want to tend to your injuries.” He explained, patiently.

“For some reason, I don't believe you.” You frowned. “Give me a cloth and I can do it myself, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon fought the urge to laugh. Who did you think you were, ordering him around? Instead, he grabbed a cloth and a pitcher of water, and brought them over to you.

You wiped your hands and face with it. Daemon watched, aware that you would not be able to clean the wound on your head on your own. You tried regardless, dabbing a clean cloth over your scalp, trying to reach blindly for the spot that was oozing blood.

He kept his eyes on you, not interfering until you were visibly frustrated.

“Do you need help?”

“No.” You glared, rubbing at your scalp harshly. Daemon stepped closer and took the cloth from you, ignoring your indignant squeaks. He assessed the damage to the back of your skull.

Your hair, braided back as it was, was matted with blood. He was unable to see much, but it seemed to have stopped flowing.

“I will unbraid your hair to look at the wound.” Daemon warned, and started taking your braid apart.

You went very still on your chair, as he untangled sticky hair strands from each other. Your braid was simple, but well constructed. It was clear that you knew quite a bit about how to do your own hair, considering the softness of it. It didn't feel like the hair of any other commoner Daemon had ever felt before. A shame it was caked in blood. He would have to ensure you got a bath soon.

As he parted your hair, shifting it in different directions, he noticed the small laceration on your skull. Nothing was showing through it, not even bone. Daemon knew that was a good sign. It was sizable enough to merit stitches, though.

“I will need to sew this. Do you need milk of the poppy?” He asked, as he went to collect thread and needle from his vanity. A Maester should be the one doing this, and he doubted he had the necessary qualifications to do so, but at the moment, Daemon had no other choice. He didn't trust anyone.

“Do you even know how to sew wounds, my Prince?” You asked, looking at him over your shoulder. It was a fair question, had he not been a squire a few years back. Daemon had earned his knighthood not so long ago, and he still vividly remembered his training.

“I am a knight, girl.” Daemon rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if he styled his name with the title, like some other cunts did, but he still was one. “Do you know what that means?”

“That you are supposed to uphold your oaths, my Prince?” And oh, how sweet. You truly were a naive little thing. It was no wonder you had charged into danger as you had, if you still believed in that bullshit. To Daemon, knights were just like any other men. No more honorable nor more just. Oaths could be broken, after all.

“Yes. But also that I was a squire. I have sewn a few wounds before, including my own.” But never a head wound, he thought to himself. Ah, what you did not know wouldn't hurt you. If he told you, you would insist on a Maester. Daemon couldn't risk it. No one could know you were here.

“I rather be awake, my Prince.”

“Suit yourself.” He stepped behind you and pressed down on your nape, getting you to lower your head. Daemon made sure you were still before starting sewing.

With each pass of the needle, you tensed more. It was a foolish thing to do, only increasing your pain.

“Don't tense. The pain is worse like that.” He advised, and kept at it. You obeyed, forcing your body to relax. It still looked like you were sitting rigidly on the chair, but you weren't clenching your jaw any longer.

As Daemon progressed, he kept a close eye on your reactions. Knuckles turning white against the armchair, breath coming out in pained little sounds. But no tears fell. Had you cried them all already? Or were you too proud to show your pain to him?

With you unmoving, it was not difficult to finish your stitches. He took a step back, admiring the white thread decorating your skull. It contrasted harshly against the red of your blood. Daemon felt oddly proud of it.

“You can have the bed tonight.” He grumbled, annoyed. Why did he feel the need to help you, suddenly? Playing nice was one thing, but why was he feeling bad? It had only been a hit to the back of the head. He had done much worse when dueling men. Drew more blood, severed more limbs. Even took their lives.

But you were a woman. A girl, really. Around his age, and vulnerable to the world. It felt uncomfortably like hurting a child. Why? What made you special? He had taken quite a few maidenheads already, and not even then he had felt like this. You looked like a wounded bird.

“What if I get blood on your sheets?”

“The servants are used to it.” The joke felt flat on his tongue. He gave you a wink, but his heart wasn't in it. Daemon could not stand another second in this room with you, reeking of pain and staring at him with those betrayed eyes. Better to head out and hit the city. He needed to numb himself. And by the time you were up, he would just be getting in.

Daemon allowed you to exist undisturbed in his room for almost a week. He provided water for you to bathe, and fresh clothes for you to change into. The routine stayed the same. He went out at night, and you slept in his bed. When you woke, you had to get out of it and entertain yourself so he could sleep.

He usually enjoyed a night out. But the constant whoring and drinking was beginning to tire him, especially since it was affecting his training. There were only so many brothels he could visit before noticing he was unsatisfied with the stock their carried because not one of them looked like you.

Ugh. The urge to fuck you was messing with his head, making him unfocused. Daemon had actually lost a sparring match this week, but he was unsure if it was from a lack of sleep or being plagued by thoughts of you.

He needed to get you out of his system. He had enough. You no longer looked like a wounded little bird. It was time to make his move.

That night, Daemon decided to skip the brothels. He sat on his bed, freshly bathed after training, and just watched you stew.

You were sitting on a pillow in the corner of his room, some books spread out around you. They were part of his small collection on Valyrian herbs. You were wearing your night shift already, and sneaking glances at him every few minutes.

He was breaking your unspoken arrangement, you sure thought. Daemon was supposed to leave so you could sleep. A shame it was not happening tonight.

“Girl.” He said, once he had enough of watching you squirm. “Pour me a glass of wine.”

You looked at him. You gave an annoyed little huff. Even if you did not dare voice it, Daemon could see the protest in your eyes. You were not used to serving men, from what he could tell. Nor were you used to serving wine. You thought yourself above those tasks, one of those fancy handmaidens that only brush hair and run baths.

And it showed. Sure, you were tidy and didn't make a mess of his rooms, but you didn't help either. You had not reached for a broom in your whole stay, or dusted anything. If he wasn't a tidy person, the place would be as unsanitary as a cheap brothel.

It had never bothered him before, not being able to call for a servant to clean his rooms. But it now did. He tried not to think very hard about why that was. It didn't mean anything. Your presence did not upset him. He was just bothered by the fact that you were like a leech.

Daemon had no use for you. His space was being invaded by a girl with unsettling eyes, who acted as if this was her prison and did not contribute at all. Anyone would be bothered by it. Right?

Anyone would be done with it. Daemon would rather behead Otto and end it all. But apparently, you could not just behead one of your subjects, or everyone started talking about Maegor the cruel.

“I do not have any use for a commoner.” Daemon stated, plainly. He advanced towards you, grasping your chin in his hand. “Do you understand what will happen to you if I kick you out?”

“I'll die.” Your voice shook. Daemon scowled. He didn't like the thing that you were doing with your eyes.

“Then you best try to please me, right?” He ran his thumb over your cheek. “Wouldn't want me to hand you over.”

You shook your head. You went and poured him his wine.

“I don't like your eyes.” Daemon said, impatiently. “Try to smile more.”

You gave him a weak smile. It set the tone for the rest of your interactions. You were a clumsy cup bearer, and took badly to sleeping on the floor. Daemon had to constantly snap at you to wipe the sad look from your face. It looked ugly, and the only good thing you had to your favor were your looks. That was why his stomach twisted when he caught you thinking of home or your family.

When the day of the trial came, you looked relieved. You managed to give your testimony without any issue, and his grandfather ruled in their favor. Aemma gets her revenge, with the King allowing Viserys to bring the head of Ser Otto and Mellos to his wife. He can't bring himself to do it, so it's Daemon who swings the sword instead.

Otto Hightower kneels for his execution with great grace. He sends Daemon a glare, but doesn't say a word. Mellos, on the other hand, screams and pleads all the way up the steps to the block.

Daemon gets a sick sort of satisfaction when he sees them both kneeling at his feet. Is this what being King feels like? He wonders, as he shares a secret smile with Aemma, who stands in the first row of the crowd. The power to hurt those who have wronged you.

Next to Aemma, you stand. You look pale and fidgety, but the grip she has in your arm prevents you from escaping. It's only fair, she had said, that you get to witness the King's justice you helped bring. You don't seem excited about it.

“Any last words?” Daemon asks, as he unsheathes Dark Sister.

“Please, don't, this has been a mistake!” Mellos screams. Daemon waits patiently. When nothing more than incoherent sobs come out from his mouth, Daemon glances up at his grandfather.

King Jaehaerys looks grim, but determined. He nods. Daemon takes Mellos’ head with one clean swoop of his sword. The head rolls into the basket with straw, preventing the blood from running everywhere. The eyelids still move. The crowd gasps, and Daemon feels strangely empty.

“I am ready for my last words now.” The Hightower cunt says, with a firm voice. Daemon can't help be both annoyed and impressed by it. Most men, like Mellos, would be shitting themselves in fear. But Ser Otto remains calm and regal, even when he knows he is about to face death.

“Speak.”

“Good pious people, I have come here to die, for according to the law and by the law I am judged to die. I do not wish to accuse any man or woman, for if the King says I am to die, I shall. I only ask that my actions are judged fairly in the years to come, and no harm comes to my family. Let it not be that the crimes of the father follow the son. I take my leave of this world and ask you to pray for me. To the Seven I commend my soul, please, Stranger, have mercy on me.”

And maybe it was the hypocritical speech, or the fact that Otto Hightower was the mastermind behind the plot to hurt his family, but this time Daemon swing his sword with much more force than necessary. The head rolls out of the box and into the crowd, falling near the first row, among horrified screams.

Right at your feet.

You turned and left. And Daemon stood, with his bloodied sword, still near the executioner's block.

There is a feast after. One that you are not allowed to attend. Nothing so crass as to celebrate the death of the two criminals, but rather, the settling of the succession issue. The plot, even if it had to do nothing with Rhaenys, had been damaging enough to doom her hopes of being Queen.

It is then, high on victory and still wearing a dirtied sword, that Daemon decides to use his power over you. It's not a conscious choice. There is something in him that broke tonight, something to do with a severed head and your look of disgust, and the cheers of Aemma and Viserys. It's something about feeling empty, when having the world at his fingertips.

He is soon to be the Prince of Dragonstone. With Viserys lack of heirs, he might even become King one day, if he doesn't set aside Aemma and finds himself a younger wife.

Daemon wonders if Aemma realizes how precarious her position has turned, now that she got her revenge. If she had kept quiet, if she had let Rhaenys get the Iron Throne, her position would be secure. The Arryns would not allow Viserys to put her aside.

But now, that her husband will be King, she will never be safe. Queens fall every day, as Rhaenys has learned. It seems it is time for Aemma to learn that lesson.

You are packing your things when he gets there. Clothes and a small collection of trinkets from the time you had spent by his side. It enrages him. You can't leave. Not when you are the only person who can understand what these weeks have been like. The only one who knows exactly the kind of monster Viserys has turned him into.

“Where are you going?” It comes out more aggressive than he intends to, but you no longer cower at his voice.

“I don't know.” You meet his eyes and keep your voice soft. “Away, my Prince.”

“No, you are not.” Daemon orders, and leaves Dark Sister laying on the rug. The blood rusts the blade, but what does it matter, at this point? If you are leaving, he can call a maid tomorrow. If you are not, everyone can know you as his whore. “Pour me some wine.”

You obey, in silence. Your hands shake slightly.

“Pour yourself a cup, too.” Daemon says, patting the space by his side. You sit, very stiffly.

“Well done.” Daemon says. You give him a little nod. “Now take your dress off.”

“Excuse me?” You jump up so fast, you might as well have never been sitting. Your hands ball by your side, an indignant expression clear on your face.

“Come on, girl. You are not that stupid.” Daemon rolls his eyes. He has protected you for nearly a fortnight, let you take his bed and food and not even once touched you. He killed a man today who would have crushed you like a worm. No one else would want you after this, no one else would understand you. “You owe me a great debt. What other use could I have for a commoner?”

“I can pay my debt in other ways.” You protest, and go back to gathering your things.

Daemon laughs. It sounds broken to his own ears, cruel and shrill. You turn to face him, noticing the difference in tone. Yet, he is not deterred, even when he barely recognizes the cruel tone he is speaking in.

“Yes. You can. I think you would make a fine dragon keeper. You have little skill for anything else, but anyone can shovel shit. I think five years of that would be a fair trade.”

“Or I could just go.” You threaten.

“You could.” And get yourself murdered in the process because there is no way Viserys and him are letting you walk away with all you have learned in your stay with them. And if they don't get you, sickness and famine might. As the northerners say, winter is coming.

“Princess Aemma…” And it’s only then that Daemon gets fed up. You think Aemma out of all people will protect you? Aemma? Has he been doing such a shitty job of it?

“Aemma said I had to protect you. She did not say I couldn't have you.”

“I…” You start, but Daemon is too desperate to care about how cruel he is starting to sound.

“You should hope her reach doesn't go far, as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Tell me, how much do you have? Enough to buy passage into Essos?”

“I'll stay.” You untie your dress, with tear filled eyes. It falls to your hips. Daemon rushes to you like a man possessed. The urge to own, claim, to keep, is too strong to resist.

He wastes no time in burrowing himself in your skin, your hair, carving a place for himself inside you. He is a monster. And intends on devouring you whole.

His love will strangle you until nothing is left. Maybe one day you will be his Queen if Viserys doesn't leave Aemma. By then, you will be just like him.

He kisses down your throat, and lowers a hand between your thighs.

“Stay.” Daemon says, and it feels like the first link on the chain. “Stay.” Muttered between your thighs, as he drowns himself on you.

“Stay.” As your blood stains his shaft, and you moan, confused by whatever you are feeling. As your hips meet his, as you are desperate to choke, to die in his hands.

“I'll stay.” You whisper back, coming down for your high, and the lock clicks.

Has really a key been thrown away if no one hears the sound it makes as it falls?

[postoctobrist]

have you ever used iron gall ink for calligraphy? It's what medieval scribes used to write on parchment. On of my previous hyperfixations was copying Anglo saxon manuscripts with using accurate materials, and i loved to tell people how they made the ink and parchment. It's made from gallic acid, extracted from fermented oak galls, and iron (ii) sulphate, aka copperas or Green vitriol, which is leached from iron pyrite. I don't know the chemistry but when they dry on parchment they react together to produce very dark, sharp and permanent marks. I made it once with oak galls I'd collected from various walks. Copperas is more commonly used as a lawn fertilisers today so it's easy to get online. I also made and used feather quills, which take a bit of practice, and you kind of have to sharpen as you go to keep the end sharp, but they can make beautiful letters once you get the hang of it.

I literally have a bottle of Rohrer and Klingner Scabiosa on my desk in front of me right now

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Did you write about the Dark Mark already? I have to think how it actually works, and why no one knows about it if they can just like search the bodies of dead Death Eaters

Anonymous asked:

why didn't dumbledore tell ministry about dark mark as a tattoo? bc he not want to send snape to azkaban of it? i guess dark mark is a very big secter and only for small inner circle, the best of the best, 'friends', and when snape tells minister about it they don't understand neither sirius when harry tells him about karkaroff and how many people have dark mark? is regulus have it or not? (i rereading the cemetery scene in 4th book and can't normally count the de's, or maybe it is a plot hole by jkr) peter probably get it after 3rd book, after he's proof self 🤔

Okay, so I haven't really written anything detailed. I just mentioned here and there some elements of my thoughts here and there sprinkled throughout other theories.

So, let's talk about the dark mark and how/why it was such a secret

First, as always, we start from what we know:

1. The dark mark is shaped like a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. It is placed on the left forearm of a Death Eater.

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail’s left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail’s robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo — a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth — the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail’s uncontrollable weeping.

(GoF, 645)

2. The mark isn't for everyone and is considered a great sign of honor. Most Death Eaters and their affiliates aren't marked.

“No,” snarled Greyback, “I haven’t got—they say he’s using the Malfoy’s place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.” Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort’s inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honor.

(DH, 389)

As for how many are marked, Harry counts them for us:

and what use would it be to deprive Voldemort of his wand, even if he could, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters, outnumbered by at least thirty to one?

(GoF, 660)

So we have about 30 Death Eaters in the graveyard + Baty Jr + Snape + Karkaroff + 10 more in Azkaban (Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Rookwood, Dolohov, Traverse, Gibbon, Jugson & another unnamed one I like to call Pyrites) + the dead ones from the first war (Regulus, Evan Rosier & Wilkes). This lands us at approximately 46 marked Death Eaters. So, while it is somewhat of a secret club, it's not that exclusive if you have about 50 members in a society of about 6,200 wizards as a whole.

3. The Dark Mark was kept incredibly secret during the first war and most of the Order (if not all of them) didn't know about it until the second war.

Even Sirius who was in Azkaban with almost exclusively marked Death Eaters, didn't know about the mark.

“He showed Snape something on his arm?” said Sirius, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. “Well, I’ve no idea what that’s about . . . but if Karkaroff’s genuinely worried, and he’s going to Snape for answers . . .”

(GoF, 532)

4. The Dark Mark allows Voldemort to know where his Death Eaters are and they can "call him" via the mark.

“And now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!” And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark. At once, Harry’s scar felt as though it had split open again.

(DH, 404)

5. The mark allows Voldemort to call his Death Eaters to him.

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail’s arm. The scar on Harry’s forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail’s mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black. A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard. “How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”

(GoF, 645)

6. It likely is able to inform him when a Death Eater is dead. I mentioned in my post about Regulus how odd it is that the Death Eaters seem to know he died when really, he could've run away. But they all knew Voldemort killed him for being a traitor, meaning, Voldemort is the one who told them he died. How did he know? The Dark Mark.

7. And the mark clearly knows when Voldemort is dead.

It appears red when he's in weakened wraith/homunculus form, and then when he lives and activates it it becomes black:

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail’s arm. The scar on Harry’s forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail’s mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black.

(GoF, 645)

Becomes clearer when he's getting stronger:

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —” “Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

(GoF, 426)

And a faded scar once Voldemort was dead for good.

8. The Dark Mark can be used for the Death Eaters to communicate with each other:

“Really?” said Professor McGonagall. “And what gave you that impression?” Snape made a slight flexing movement of his left arm, where the Dark Mark was branded into his skin. “Oh, but naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “You Death Eaters have you own private means of communication, I forgot.”

(DH, 506)

How the Dark Mark Works Magically

So, I mentioned it in the past, but I think there is some soul magic involved in the Dark Mark. Considering it is aware of whether its host (the Death Eater) is alive or dead and how they all connect to Voldemort, I feel it's pretty safe to say soul magic is part of it.

The fact Harry feels his scar whenever the mark is used to call Voldemort or used by Voldemort to call his Death Eaters (as illustrated in the above quotes) just strengthens the soul connection since Harry is, as we know, a Horcrux.

I don't think the Dark Mark uses a Protean Charm like the DA coins, but a different method. Mostly since a Protean Charm charm isn't needed. It's what caused the numbers on the coin to change, not what caused them to burn up.

A spell I do want to bring up is the one used to paint the Dark Mark in the sky: "Morsmordre"

(As an aside, that's like, the most evil-sounding spell in how it's pronounced in my opinion. It's all these 'R's)

The spell is most likely comprised of the Latin "mors" meaning "death" and "mordere" meaning "to bite". Literally translates to "To bite death" AKA Death Eater. And I think this spell is the same one used to make someone a Death Eater, or at least to mark them as one.

I also headcanon that only marked Death Eaters (+ Voldemort) could cast Morsmordre on the sky. Like, if some random cast the spell it wouldn't do shit. It makes the whole situation with Winky in GoF more heartbreaking. But also, I don't think anyone there really knew that the spell was limited use, as no one tried to cast it after the first war, probably. But I don't really have evidence for this.

Back to the Dark Mark brand:

The dark mark is mentioned to be burned on one's skin, beside creating a burning sensation when Voldemort calls:

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord.

(GoF, 709)

This makes me think the mark looks burned. Like if you used a hot piece of iron to burn the mark on someone's skin, like a brand.

Now, fire is an interesting element, and, alchemically, one of the elements that corresponds to the soul along with air. Air, though, is also part of the spirit, the fire is only part of the soul as the soul is the one carrying the spark, so to speak.

And I think the idea of them looking like a branding is accurate — because that is exactly what the dark mark is. It's a brand. It's a sign of possession. In various cultures in the past, slaves were branded in a similar way. A sign of ownership that you and your soul, in this case, aren't your own.

So, I think, to mark someone, Voldemort would cast Morsmordre on their arm. This will burn the mark on them, which I assume would feel like a brand being burned on (which is also how it looks, it does not look like a tattoo).

But what does this have to do with the name "Death Eater"?

Well, both the organization and the spell share this language. both meaning to eat death, and I wondered why. So, I looked up various folklore/myths that could refer to a "Death Eater" and I found some interesting ones.

In Ancient Greece and Rome, for example, apparently, Fava Beans were often treated as symbols of death and decay. Some even said the beans contained souls and that eating them was akin to cannibalism. I don't think it has anything to do with the Dark Mark, but I found it interesting.

Of course, there is the Greek myth of Persephone, who is trapped in the underworld by eating pomegranate seeds.

I also considered a connection to sin-eaters. Who were usually poor people invited to funerals and paid to ritualistically eat the sins of the deceased so they could move on to heaven in Ireland and Wales.

However, my favorite theory is one I'm not the first to pose. I don't remember where I read it, but I read a post from someone who mentioned the name 'Death Eaters' reminded them of 'beefeaters'. The term refers to the Yeomen Warders who guard the tower of London. Some etymologists believe the term 'beefeaters' originates from the old English: 'hláf-æta', literally meaning 'bread-eater' but was a word used to refer to a servant, while others argue it could originate from an old French term: 'buffetier' which also means servant.

That, to me, sounded perfect. It fits naturally in with everything.

'Death Eaters' then is then a play on an old English term meaning 'servent', except, the 'bread' from that word was replaced with death, both for Voldemrot's obsession with death and the connection to the life and soul I mentioned earlier.

I also would like to mention that the change of 'bread' to 'death' makes the term sound more permanent. Like they are to remain Voldemrot's servants until they eat death (until they die). It basically marks their soul forever. It brands them.

So, magically, the dark mark makes someone Voldemot's servant for life. It binds their soul to the network of marks that are all tied to Voldemrot's own soul.

This is where that sin-eater connection I mentioned earlier might be relevant. A sin-eater ritualistically eats a person's sins, a part of them in a way. So, I think, with the dark mark, it's something similar. Magically/symbolically, they eat Voldemrot's sins — a part of him.

So, to summarise this section:

The spell Morsmordre is likely used to mark a death eater. The mark is burned and acts as a weak soul tether between Voldemort and all his Death Eaters like a weird network. The mark is a branding, it looks burned and it brands them as Voldemort's servants. The spell 'Morsmordre' literally means to bite death or eat death and refers to the Death Eaters' name. A name that practically calls them Voldemort's servants until their death.

Why the Secrecy

Well, I think this one is pretty obvious. You'd rather the mark that basically broadcasts who's a trusted follower to the world not be common knowledge. Not only that but it's stated by many characters that during the first war, Death Eaters didn't really know who the other Death Eaters were. Everyone knew Voldemort, and only knew each other or about plans on a need-to-know basis.

At least, that's how they operated in the first wat. Death Eaters in the first war are closer to a cult than in the second one.

They operate in secrecy.

All the following and operations revolve around a single leader everyone knows and worships.

Most don't even know each other from how secret they are.

Their clothes — masks, robes, and hooded cloaks all fit in with this cult-like imagery.

In the second war, it was different though. I spoke in the past about how the second war is very different from the first one. How it ran, the number of casualties, the approach of Death Eaters towards the ministry, and vice versa.

In the first war, Voldemort was around, hushing up a lot of their involvement and creating this air of fear and mystery around his cult. In book 5, the DE are just as secretive and hushed up in their operations at the beginning of the first war, but during book 6 and into book 7, Voldemort isn't as present. So, they allow themselves more. They stop hiding because no one is telling them to.

So, in the second war, we see society as a whole is much more aware of the dark mark and the Death Eaters.

How Come No One Tells Fudge

First I want to talk about how they didn't see it on dead bodies of Death Eaters or on imprisoned ones, and, well, I have a guess.

Karkaroff and Snape mention how the dark mark darkened throughout year 4, becoming more and more red. It's possible, that right after Voldemort was defeated, when most Death Eaters were arrested and killed, the mark likely was incredibly faded and barely visible. It looked like an old scar and probably didn't garner much attention and was easy enough to conceal with magic for people like Lucius Malfoy.

As for why Dumbledore didn't tell Fudge in the second war, I think he did tell Fudge. Fudge likely knew about the dark mark and it didn't matter. The whole point of book 5 is that the ministry is corrupt. Fudge knows Voldemort is back, he believes it, he just doesn't want everyone else to think is. He is desperate to show competence and get reelected, Voldemort returning in his time is not a good look.

Basically, I don't think Fudge was ever a convincing problem, he knew Dumbledore and Harry were telling the truth — and he didn't care.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

okay I was sorta lurking but I actually have a confession after reading that one about the rp servers because oh my god I had a TERRIBLE experience with an rp server. It’s so bad that it is literally the reason I have such a burning hatred for Pyrite the Skywing.

it was based extremely on wof (with some focus on the legend of Spyro, of all things) and it was called something like “WoF: Talon” or something like that; it had this edgy Bloodclan-esque dragon tribe but that’s beside the point. the server had this economy where in order to get like anything mildly special about a character you were going to play (hivewing abilities, Nightwing being born under any moons, firescales, etc.) and animus magic was the second most expensive thing, only being cheaper than literally buying moderator role. I’m dead serious.

Anyway, I decide to submit my personal animus character, a Nightwing named Gemcarver. basically he makes jewelry and sometimes puts enchantments on it of various usefulness. It gets accepted, I look for someone willing to rp. Lucky me, I guess; the owner of the server wants to rp. The owner, as a side note, literally idolizes Pyrite and unironically says that he “simps for her” and calls her “his queen.” I’ve never liked Pyrite as a character; she’s like a stereotypical shy girl who turns out to be like very overt TF bait? which is like not bad in itself, but it feels so over the top in the books. Anyway. Owner of the server decides to rp with his version of Pyrite, who is this more confident version of herself who has a husband and children, and also animus magic for some reason. We start rping, I’m having a decent amount of fun, and then he decides to do something…funny. pyrite decides to take a little piece of jewelry that Gemcarver bought just to be nice, and enchants it to basically have a second pyrite; Flora the Rainwing was born. And I was having fun with that too for a bit, until pyrite started making the spell more complicated, with ideas such as:

-flora being unable to get mad at pyrite for ANYTHING.

-flora being obsessed with Skywing culture and just Skywings in general, to the point of wanting to be one

-flora being obsessed with Pyrite specifically, romantically. Despite her having a husband.

And frankly I’m getting sort of annoyed, and want to play Gemcarver again (maybe there could be some like plot where he starts hating pyrite as he crushes the jewelry? I thought it would be cool) and saw my opportunity to get rid of it and made my shot, twice….and the owner didn’t let it happen. So I voice my complaints, like “so did I pay all that currency for nothing? the character I made is just dead now, for no reason?”

“Essentially, yes.”

this pisses me off, and I tell him that this is shitty, and he essentially just says “nuh this isn’t bad pyrite just wants attention uwu” and I just eventually dropped the conversation. and to this day I hate Pyrite with a burning passion.

Fuck that guy.

I can definitely understand why you hate Pyrite after that encounter.

[reddpenn]

Here is a song about my rock collection! It is a tune you probably recognize. Lyrics under the cut!

Permit me to parade my petrological anthology Collected in my quest for comprehensive mineralogy. Their shininess is second to their science and lithology. This song’s about my rock collection! Man, I love geology.

Oh, amethyst is purple ‘cause of iron, isn’t that real neat? And citrine is just amethyst plus lots of geothermal heat. And smoky quartz is brown from radiation and aluminum… Inclusions such as chlorite, rutile, goethite can bloom in ‘em!

(Inclusions such as chlorite, rutile, goethite can bloom in ‘em!) (Inclusions such as chlorite, rutile, goethite can bloom in ‘em!) (Inclusions such as chlorite, rutile, goethite can bloom in bloom in ‘em!)

Oh, sapphire and ruby, well, they’re both corundum chemically And emerald, aquamarine, and morganite are beryl. See, Historically each color had a different etymology And now they’re in my rock collection! Man, I love geology.

(Historically each color had a different etymology) (And now they’re in my rock collection! Man, I love geology.)

My fluorite is a favorite when it’s glowing under UV light. But should it be from Rogerley it changes when the sun is bright. And if you like fluorescence, put this fact inside your cranium: Chalcedony glows green because of ions of uranium!

When making porcelain vases, you need kyanite that’s powdered fine And celestine’s in fireworks and toothpaste such as Sensodyne. There’s mica in your drywall, and the litterbox has zeolites… Your bones and teeth and kidney stones are all hydroxylapatites!

(Your bones and teeth and kidney stones are all hydroxylapatite!) (Your bones and teeth and kidney stones are all hydroxylapatite!) (Your bones and teeth and kidney stones are all hydroxyl-apple-apa-tite!)

When dating strata layers ammonites can be real helpful guys. The sutures in their shell can tell how long ago they fossilized! And artifacts obsidian track trade in archeology. Those ancient folks had rock collections, man I love geology!

(And artifacts obsidian track trade in archeology.) (Those ancient folks had rock collections, man I love geology!)

Oh, did you know that peridot, as super hot peridotite Makes up the planet’s mantle and is also found in meteorites? Which make lechatelierite when it’s sandy soil that they strike. Another form of that is made by lightning, that’s called fulgurite!

Well, garnet makes the best dodecahedrons that you’ve ever seen. Prismatic crystals with three sides are quite unique to tourmaline. A certain mine in Spain produces pyrite that is cubical… Lepidolite can be botryoidal, but that’s quite unusual.

(Lepidolite can be botryoidal, but that’s quite unusual!) (Lepidolite can be botryoidal, but that’s quite unusual!) (Lepidolite can be botryoidal, but that’s quite unusu-usu-al!)

My knowledge of earth sciences is only as an amateur. But hounding and collecting rocks ain’t only for a connoisseur. And for my love of minerals I’m making no apology. Cause rocks are fun for everyone and man, I love geology!

(And for my love of minerals I’m making no apology.) (Cause rocks are fun for everyone and man, I love geology!)

[nothasideblog]

Problems of All Sizes

Cal comes down with a cold and tries to power through. ---

He hates to say it, but shoveling would be much easier without Kata's “help.” Every fifteen minutes or so, she shouts, “Wait!” and scrambles down to pluck out a bug or root, spilling dirt into the bottom of the hole.

She’s just trying to be helpful, he knows, and she is, in the long run. The likelihood of finding pyrite is pretty high on Koboh, and the plants she sees tend to be useful.

But Cal isn’t thinking about the long run. He’s thinking about the growing crick in his neck and ache in his–...he pauses thoughtfully and rolls out his wrists. 

Everywhere, he decides. He aches everywhere. He wants to be done with this. 

There was a problem with Pyloon’s electrical system. Cal woke up to the lights sporadically flickering and Greez swearing up and down. Cal quickly discovered that tinkering with the breaker box would not fix the problem. Hence, digging in the sand for wires. 

“Cal? Why’s your lightsaber blue?”

He also might want to be done with this because Kata has been asking a lot of questions lately. 

Usually, he can come up with something semi-intelligent to say. But, right now, he struggles to find any answer that satisfies her. He blames the heat getting to his head and the fact she gets sharper every day. 

 “That’s a good question. I don’t know. Why do you think it’s blue?”

She hums, turning over a sprout in her hand. “Is it because it’s your favorite color?”

He laughs a little, something catches, and he coughs once before saying, “I’ve honestly never really thought about it. I guess so.” He digs the shovel's tip under a stone and thinks of the glint of Merrin’s hair. Was silver a color? “Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe blue isn’t my favorite.”

“I didn’t think so. Red wasn’t Papa’s.” 

“I-hhheehh--HEt’SH!” Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, Cal sneezes, the shovel slips forward, and his head collides into the dirt wall. 

It’s all pretty embarrassing. Luckily, Kata reacts with grace–she holds her stomach and kicks her legs and she snorts-laughs so hard it has her choking for breath. 

Cal can’t help but let a little smile quirk at the corner of his mouth. He grabs her foot, shaking it with false venom, “Laugh it up. If I’m sick, guess who finishes the job?” 

She jerks her sandal from his grasp and stands up with a grin, “Merrin! I’ll go get her.”

“I meant you!” Cal calls after her, but she’s already around the corner. She’s faster than usual, and he swears he sees a hint of green. Merrin must be teaching her things. Good. That was good, right? 

Cal shifts his weight onto the shovel's step, and he meets the resistance of the wire’s rubber coating. He kneels to get to work, brushing away dirt with his hand to find the wire’s insulation cracked. He begins stripping away at it. 

A flash of green cracks to his right. He doesn’t need to look away from his work. He knows who it is, “Kata said you needed help,” Merrin’s alto voice rings out. 

“Well,” He starts taping over the newly restored wiring, “The hard part is over.”

“Do you want me to leave?” 

He turns to face her, “Of course, I don’t want you to–what?” He falters when her eyes flick up to his forehead and she smiles, not unsympathetic. 

He rubs at it with the back of his hand and it comes back with dirt. He can feel his ears turn pink. 

Merrin takes the shovel from his hand first and reaches down to help him out of the hole. Once he’s above ground again, she wordlessly begins finishing the task, pushing dirt back into place. Cal helps to the best of his ability, kicking it in with his foot. “Did she tell you how–…” “She told me how it happened, yes.” She shakes her head and uses her thumb to wipe the rest of the dirt off his face, ”What is wrong with you?”

Ears pinker still, he says, “Thanks. Nothing major. I, uh, think I might have picked up a bug.” 

She regards him carefully, eyebrows raised, “A parasite?”

“I think it’s-a-cold..!” As if confirming its presence, Cal pitches forward. This time, he covers it with the crook of his arm. “HAT’SHh’uH…ugh.” 

He feels a tug at the back of his neck and hears a tearing noise. Merrin pushes something into his hand—a piece of cloth. Bewildered, he sniffs, “Did you rip this off the back of my scarf? 

Merrin pinches the edge of what’s left of it behind him between two fingers. “Was it not more of a cape? Did you need it?”

“I guess not.” Cal huffs out a laugh and turns away to blow his nose. 

They walk back to Pyloon’s together. The doors slide open, and he’s relieved that half of the bar’s lights hold steady with a healthy hum. The other half remains disconnected and black. He’ll take it as a win. 

“Cal!” He turns to see Kata with a grin so wide he worries it’ll crack her face. “I helped make you something! Be right back!” He clears his throat to reply, but she’s already rushing towards the kitchen, weaving between customers. The regulars side-step her, used to her bursts of energy. 

Merrin slips into a booth, and Cal sits across from her. He swipes a few napkins from the dispenser and shoves them into his pocket. He pulls out three more and uses the first to swipe under his nose.

Merrin’s dark eyes watch him, and she smiles, amused, “You are like a Moog hoarding food for the winter.” 

“Well, at the rate I’m going, I won’t have much scarf left by the end of the night,” He huffs. 

“Excuse me!” Kata’s voice rings out around the corner. Cal pokes his head out of the booth to see her stepping heel-toe towards them, eyes glued to the giant steaming bowl of soup in her hands. It sloshes wildly from left to right. He morbidly thinks of how it’s a perfect representation of how his stomach feels watching the piping-hot liquid get dangerously close to her skin. 

He’s at her side instantly, lifting it from her grasp, “Is this for me?”

Kata follows him to the booth, crossing her arms, “Yeah but I had it!” She insists.  

“Sorry. Do you want it back?” he asks, though he’s already set it on the table and reclaimed his seat. 

Kata rolls her eyes, “It’s okay, I guess,” She scrambles up next to Merrin and sits on her knees.

Cal scoops up a heaping spoonful and sticks it in his mouth. It’s still steaming when he swallows it, but he can barely mind the burn when it’s wonderfully salty with something akin to dill. He chews on a bite of potato, “Did Greeze help you with this?”

Kata grins, “How did you know?”

Cal shrugs, “Because it’s delicious.” 

“Really?!” She plants her hands on the table to lean over to look into the bowl. Her eyes reflect the golden blobs floating in the broth. They look like stars. 

I saw the entire galaxy in her eyes. 

He feels a wave of nausea, but he pushes through and shoves the spoon back into his mouth. Under the table, Merrin taps his foot a little. He glances up and she gives him a questioning look. He smiles at her and hopes it’s reassuring.

“Tell us how you made it, child,” Merrin says, tucking a strand of hair behind Kata’s ear. 

“Greeze chopped the vegetables, but I added the spices,” Kata lights up, “They’re from the garden.”

Cal eats while she talks. The broth is rich and coats his throat, and the steam makes it easier to breathe. He should make sure Kata gets a bowl, one that hasn’t been contaminated with whatever head cold struck him this time. Unfortunately, his nose starts running before he can say anything. He ducks his face into another napkin, “Hih-HIt’SHuh!” 

“Sounds like you’re coming down with something nasty.” 

Cal sniffs, teary-eyed, as Greeze saddles up next to them and leans against Merrin’s side of the booth. “It’s not so bad. I ended up getting free soup out of the whole thing.” 

“You get a free bed along with it, too,” Greeze jerks his thumb towards Cal’s room, “Might as well make use of it.”

The thought is tempting. His head feels too heavy and too light simultaneously, “Thaahhnk-Hih!…” He catches himself, turning and blinking away the feeling. It leaves his nose buzzing. “Sorry, thank you. I’ll head down in a minute. I haven’t had a chance to catch up with Merrin.”

She shares a look with Kata, who grins and asks, “Who’s Berrid?” 

“Oh, ha ha,” Cal smiles, despite himself, “Our beloved Nightsister has nothing to say to that?”

“Don’t make fun of the ailing; it’s not honorable,” Merrin’s voice remains steady, but her eyes dance with laughter. “My day was fine, Cal.” 

He rests his cheek in his hand. She looks nice in this light. He wonders if everything looks different to her nocturnal eyesight. He sniffs and bites down a curse as his nose starts to itch again. “That’s good. You went book huh-hunting?” 

Her dark lips quirk into a smile, “I found an old text on magnets and galaxies. I left it on your bed.” Merrin had been exploring caves on Jeddah to help Cal link something–anything to figure out how to fix the compass. The design was so advanced, Cal struggled to even get the damn thing open. 

“HehH…!!”

But, reading books is a nice, non-physically exhausting activity, something to look forward to. He would be so lost without Merrin. He would be so dead without Merrin.

“RRt’SHHuh!” He buries his face into his napkin and tries to recover as casually as possible, but, “MPHHsshuh!!!” He blinks, dizzy. 

Merrin squeezes his forearm, “You should go take a look.”

“...Yeah, alright,” Cal lets his shoulders slump and he begins to get up, stiff. “Wait,” He squints, his focus hazing. He turns to Kata, “There’s enough soup left for you, right?”

Greeze laughs, “You don’t usually just make one bowl of soup, Cal, there’s a whole pot.” He seems a little disturbed, but that’s nothing new. Greeze is routinely unsettled by a lot of things Cal says these days. The thought makes him ache. 

A flash of green and a cool hand on his forehead diverges him from his thoughts. He’s having trouble holding onto those today–thoughts. But Merrin is taking his arm, so he’s fine with whatever happens next. 

“Goodnight Cal!” Kata calls after him.

They turn the corner and he slurs, “S’the middle of the day.” 

Merrin pushes his hair back. He fights a shiver creeping up his shoulders, and she whispers, “On’sila,” in his ear. He doesn’t know what it means, but the words are nice little puffs of air on his neck. She scrapes her nails down his scalp, and he finds his eyes closing. Her other hand guides him to lie down, and he recognizes the soft comforter of his bed. 

When did they get here?

The floor crackles and he hears the doors slide open. “What about the ‘old magnet text?’” He asks, and he winces when his voice breaks on “text.”

There are a few moments of silence where he worries he’ll fall asleep. But, soon enough, he feels the heavy weight of paper and leather as she drops it, rather heavily into his lap.

“You won’t last 15 minutes,” She wagers. 

He blinks his eyes open and sits up on his elbows. The world spins momentarily but settles, and he begins thumbing through the pages,“C’mon, give me at least twenty.” 

Merrin plucks it from his grasp. He doesn’t reach for it back but shoots her a questioning look. She meets it with a level stare, “I will read.” 

Cal rolls his eyes and starts to reach for it again, but she jerks it away and hastily announces, “To practice my Basic.”

That gets him reconsidering and relaxing back into bed, so she begins. “Magnetic fields in the spiral arms of our galaxy are tilted away from the galactic average by a high degree…”

[onion-makes-stimboards]

grins....... grins........ hi :) grins could you possibly

Actually never mind 😔 rarepair so rare there are exactly 0 images of them on screen together WAIT NO THERE'S SOME IN BFB 1 Okay okay so ahem

Fanleaf leafanny fanleafy whatever you wanna call it..... grins......... Fanny x leafy.......

!!Fanny X Leafy Stimboard!!

1--2--3--4--5--6--7--8

[lemonxlimee]

Intro post

Last updated: December 17th, 2024

Last update: added the fanny theory to tags list; tweaked friends list

Names: Our collective names are Lemon, Pyrite or Lock! If you know who's fronting, feel free to call us that, too! ^_^ (or, if you're not sure and up for a challenge, try to guess. ;) you can also call us Saturn, Leafy or Apollo if you wish. Label me whatever you would like

— if I sign off with &, that means the comment was collective; or it applies to General Pyrite rather than any single headmate

Age: 16

Pronouns

I live in Alberta, Canada!

PFP is from BFB, with the bigender and arospec flags. Banner is from Chonny Jash's Ruler of Everything. Blog title is from Centricide 7: Noise. Bio is from the Minecraft end poem.

Fandoms, in order: OSC, Chonny Jash, Centricide, Minecraft, Ninjago, and (very occasionally) FNAF

Dnfi: harmful paras/pro contact, radqueers/terfs, zionists, anti-queer, if you're under 13 (get off tumblr), anti-endos*

Super thin ice: hazbin/helluva fandom, Leafy haters, nickloon shippers, fireafy shippers, "endo neutral" people*

Thin Ice: Yeah there's no one in this section yet. Boo 👻

*Not dni but it's weird if you interact: if you're over 26, anti jashippers, anti shippers in general, ageless blogs

Please interact: object show fans, lgbtqia+, anyone who lives in Western Canada (alberta/sask/bc), Leafy defenders, other systems, and anyone who shares a fandom!! ^_^ and basically anything else I guess

Complicated interaction (i.e. specific people only can interact): proshippers*, homestuck, "anti-syscourse*", Firey defenders**

*exceptions will be made on a case-by-case basis

*If you aren't in syscourse feel free to disregard this

**This one is in CompInt because half the time I'm a Firey defender and the other half the time I hate his guts

My Spotify: Leafyztar !! 💚❤️

My Wattpad: xxcloudyy-

My YouTube: L3MON // LIM3

My Ao3: l3monxlim3

My Discord: leafyztar

Friendos:

@talkingteardrop

@tapwater118

@depraced

@onion-the-stupid-child

@ju91t3rs-rambles0rwtv

@scn-thedog

The Polycule: (well at this point it's hardly a polycule)

@serpyserper56

@lillyshroom (only Paper)

@twig-gy

Byf:

• I don't post about Palestine. Isreal supporters dnfi, but I can't donate to anyone, and it makes me spiral, so I've blocked the tag and I ignore asks. I'm not a bad person for this and if you tell me i am I'll ignore you.

• I say the F and D slurs very often. I'm not sorry. I don't use the T slur though, it makes me unhappy

• If you wanna send an ask, have it have some substance, please, instead of just an image (╥﹏╥)°°

• I don't do art requests! I draw, write and post whatever I want whenever I want. Maybe I'll open commissions later on.

• I'm objectum and also hhhhnng plushsiesssssss,,,

• SPECULATIVE BIOLOGIST!! Please ask me about my object spec bio. I love object spec bio. I love it. I love it. I love spec bio. I love osc spec bio. I lo

• I specialize in plants and machines, but I am trying to branch out (ha.) Into other species! I'm most knowledgeable about plants though :)

• Robotics kid (watch out)

• we have a bunch of mental disorders and a couple physical disabilities too. We often don't have the energy to do stuff and we can be pretty irritable. If this bothers you, don't follow.

• we use we/us and i/me interchangeably

• If you make me uncomfortable or angry I will likely block without warning, even if you're not in the dni or thin ice lists.

• * a proship to me is defined as a ship that includes and embraces illegal or morally awful themes. This includes but is not limited to minor/adult, human/animal, or attacker/victim. If you ship any of these things, I consider you a proshipper. Otherwise, I don't give a darn - have fun with your kismesis

• I'm anti-harassment and anti-censorship, so I don't really give a darn, and this also does not apply to kinks. "darkships" don't count either. If I don't like it, I'll just block and ignore, and I encourage you to do the same.

• This doesn't apply to radqueer shit and harmful paraphilias, especially if you're pro-contact. I'll still b+i, but you best believe I'm reporting your ass.

• i post about discourse. Not syscourse anymore though it's just tiring (feel free to send me hate mail though, i guess). I'm pro endo.

• I sometimes joke about my disabilities. Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable

• I often write in enderspeak! Translations will be provided upon request. ⟒⋏⎅⟒⍀☍⟟⋏ ⌿⌰⟒⏃⌇⟒ ⟟⋏⏁⟒⍀⏃☊⏁!

• I also speak warden (thanks dear) and I'm learning toki pona (thanks Q) :)

• Kin of a bunch of stuff; most prominently:

Cat therian (red longhair tabby with low white spotting)

Enderman kin

Robot/techkin

Plushkin

Fictkin (Mind CJ, Leafy BFDI, Balloon II)

• PROUDLY KITTYPET 🌈❤️❤️🔥🔥🔥

• I will change this as I see fit

• dm me or hit me up through an ask if you have any fic recommendations!! (yes I have read fear garden, it's my favourite book ever)

My alt accounts

@npdleafy (my evil alt)

@leafyztar (Leafy roleplay blog)

@usually4leaf (you know)

@little-droplet-td (td blog)

@leafy-plush (leafyplush blog)

Tags

#miscellaneous - text posts

#ask - asks; always cross-posted with miscellaneous, so if you want to look for just text posts, you're outta luck.

#my art - my art

#Pyrite's jashtober - I made my own jashtober. Go look at it. It's very incomplete but whatever I'll probably finish it soon

#bald objects - I edit osc characters to remove notable features, making them "bald." I have lost friends for this

#Saturn's hall of fame - my best sellers

#fave - other people's best sellers

#ultra fave - the best of the best

#Insane ramblings - Chonny Jash stuff. I am very unnormal about them. Mostly jashipping stuff

#ocpilled - osc ocs, mainly Lock and Twisty

#ocmaxxing - ninjago ocs, mainly Katelain and Jillian

#ocigma - any other original characters

#fagposting - Leafy bfdi❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ and Evil Leafy too I guess

#the fanny theory - yknow the deal

My fanfic comic can be found here; "Favourite Student," a series of oneshots about Leafy in the EXIT

My kinlist can be found here; be aware of these when talking to me, as the things I say may be influenced by the connections I have made with these characters

My headcanons can be found here and here, in case you get confused during a roleplay or conversation (or if you just wanna look at them for fun)

The Bidding - Chonny Jash

[quinloki]

Can’t help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley with Marco and his s/o who dies of old age

It’s the song they got married to and the song they die to :)

-💧

You end this ask with a smile you villain! Demon!

T-T no that’s so sad 😭 oh man especially in an AU where Marco does t die he just bursts into flames and he’s twenty or ten or whatever but he’s reborn and gods and seas how does he get rid of this curse?

(I see it being a one-time effect of the fruit personally, not true immortality, but unsettlingly close.)

Ahhhhh gag! (I mean GAH! Not gag- stupid phone)

You know what, NO.

No, I’m not leaving it as that kind of sorrow today. TAKE THIS AND LIKE IT.

You’d been teased, at first, the difference in age between you and Marco, but you didn’t care. As months and years had passed, as your twenties and his forties had turned into your fifties and his seventies, it mattered not one whit.

He’s lived a hard life, and the phoenix fruit takes it toll on his stamina. He may be only 70, which is by no means young, but he’s honestly closer to 90 with how often he’d pushed beyond his means. The whole island mourns when he dies.

And is flabbergasted when his body catches fire on its own, bursting into the most beautiful flames you’ve ever seen. From under the pile of ash a young man stands up, Marco no more than 30.

He’s a bit confused himself, but trial and error finds you a young version of himself without a drop of Devil fruit power within him. He can swim, but no longer can he soar.

Marco is elated! You dance, make love, live a quiet life on the quiet island as you had been for years.

And you grow old. Together. Again.

Fifty becomes sixty, becomes seventy. You miss his flames from time to time, but your fifty year old husband has more pep in his step and draw hot baths for you, brings you tea. You’re nearly eighty, maybe a little older, when the end draws near for you.

He’s over sixty, by true rights over a century, and he sits with you with a warm smile, the edges drawn only a little in sorrow. You’ve had more decades of time together than you ever believed possible.

And you’ll die before him. As everyone else has.

He regretted not being able to outlive you, after carrying that burden for so many others, but that was, perhaps the last gift his Zoan fruit gave him. Being able to keep you comfortable, safe, and loved for all the days of your life.

Being able to protect you from the solitude that would have followed. His pretty bird, after all, should never have to sing such a sorrowful song.

He will bury you, but his broken heart, and his extra years, will not carry him much further. A year later the village buried him beside you, grave set at the foot of the great mountain.

The giant Phoenix carved into the rock, looking over the valley and to the sea beyond, that glints teal and gold in the right light, from rocks heavy with veins of pyrite and pale blue quartz - stones precious in a way, but not worth the effort to mine into the mountain - watches over the village ever after.

Sometimes the air and wind hit the shore and crags in a way that the sweet trill of music, some birds that are only heard and never seen, and dances along the valley. Old locals call it the guardian’s song, and younger villagers tell of a sweet romantic tale, how hearing the song with your sweetheart will ensure a long life together.

[fallingstarsandthemoon]

how is a perfect cut lapis different than a regular lapis? also squid lore.. how did he end up in stampy's court?

A perfect cut lapis is usually bigger than a regular lapis, containing darker and richer colors and a bunch more Pyrite in their form (the gold stuff in Lapises.) (Or can it be Lapi?)

as for the other question… I’d like to tell you a story about the Sun and the Moon. (Ft. Pre-rebellion Squid and his longer hair.)

(NOT A SHIP I REPEAT NOT A SHIP.)

The sun shone as bright as day, but his eyes were set on a moon. A little blue rock that broke out the Earth was nowhere near the prestige of the sun, but the sun didn’t care. The way the dust on that thing glittered in his rays and that warm smile on such a cold seeming gem was all the Sun needed. Every time the Moon and Sun were seen together, it created a spectacular show for all to see the science of opposites. The Moon and Sun told each other all their woes. The Moon was little and weak compared to the sun, but for once in the Sun’s court’s history, it felt like they didn’t need to worry about the caste system in place. Of course, the Sun had duties to do for the well-being of him and his Sibling’s empire, so he eventually helped rain down destruction on the Earth to end a terrible war. The Moon was so distraught it caused him to flee from the Sun, sticking close to the ruined Earth. His very emotions pulled the tides like a hurricane when it all happened, seeing his companions and kin, scattered and malformed, if not shattered into fine dust…

He would never forgive his radiant Sun for what he did.

And yet…

The Sun felt an empty void after the Moon fled, and the Moon wishes he didn’t feel the same.

…It’s been too long since the last eclipse.

Og Yellow Diamond! Stampy design by

@ingapotejtoo

[chestcongestion]

Given your recent (awesome) art, I think it's only fitting to wonder about your snzcanons for Ma/mmon? (I'm sure someone's asked already but hey I'll still try)

~ Effy

Ye s sss, YESSSS, I get to go feral about my big fat sexy spider capitalist- wha, who said that?

Doesn't cover because he thinks it's not worth the effort

Sneezes in spaced out doubles. One, followed by a brief pause and a sharp inhale, and then the other.

Sneezes are far more 'mouth' for him than they are sinuses, they're very toothy, lots of consonants.

"I-ihh'PtSsheww!....(gasp)- IH'PKsShhew!!" and so on. His allergy sneezes are far tighter, where every sneeze after the first one come on so quickly that they don't even properly start, "I-ih...Ih'PptSshHEW! 'Shhew! 'Tsshiew! 'Xxhhtiew! 'Shhew! 'Sshhiew!-"

Allergic to brass, pyrite, moissanite, cheap perfumes and colognes, and dogs.

Buys higher quality fragrances for anyone he had regular business meetings with because if he got a whiff of their cheap ass Bloodbath and Body Horror spray, he would be sneezing for hours.

Photic motherfucker, thankful that he doesn't have pupils so he can look away from the flash/lights whenever a news outlet takes a photo of him, it's ALSO why he used to wear sunglasses to his shows so he didn't lose his train of thought after sneezing.

Has a bit of a sinus problem, almost constantly wakes up with a stuffy nose, to the point where upon waking up- even if he isn't in his own bed- he reflexively grasps around to his left to pluck a handful of tissues out of the box on his nightstand.

Wipes his nose with the heel of his palm if he doesn't have any tissues, has sometimes used his gloves as a makeshift hanky if he can't find anything else.

His face wrinkles adorably when he sniffles, almost like a cat's face where you see the ridges right at the center where his nose would be.

Immune system is decent, it's average. Ma/mm finds himself getting one or two colds every year. However, he's a bit more prone to secondary infections: Lingering coughs turn into bronchitis, residual stuffiness becomes a sinus infection, etc.

Can always tell when he's getting sick and it makes him incredibly cranky, the second he swallows and feels the sting of a sore throat, he begins trying to ignore it to see if it'll go away on its own- it never does.

Tries to push through when he's sick but crashes and burns pretty hard- which is why he gets so many secondary infections, his body takes a fuckload of damage before he recovers.

His assistant Amex (they have a name now adfsdfg) is probably one of the only people who can convince or force him to rest, even if it's accompanied by a lot of loud arguing and complaining.

Isn't a very big fan of cold medicine, and prefers using warm mist humidifiers and hot towels rubbed with eucalyptus oil for his congestion. It makes him feel more comfortable, and anytime someone has had to come to his estate in Gr/eed for a meeting when he's under the weather, they can tell because the halls smell like a public bathhouse with eucalyptus growing up the walls.

Always gets a bit sniffly after being out in the rain/ going for a dip in Gr/eed's disgusting trash lake when it's chilly out, but it goes away if he takes a hot bath to warm up.

[ask-sibverse]

Harem AU rambles- Corruption and twins (mainly the Apple Empire twin sets and related ramblings)

So! In the harem AU corruption, Killer's SOUL issue, etc are basically "genetic"/hereditary conditions that are passed down (although are still viewed as "curses"/demonic regardless by a lot of people). In corruption specifically, you will always have a twin with teal magic who is corrupted and a yellow magic "carrier," both of whom can have children with the genetic condition (although it can be a yellow magic "shattered" twin and purple carrier, or the even rarer orange "radiance" twin and purple carrier). Usually you wont find more than one set of corrupted+carrier in a generation of a family, and while technically anyone in the family can pass on the "gene" the corrupted individual and their twin have the highest likelihood of passing it down. (Can you tell I adore reading about genetics lol)

Anyways! So, the Apple Empire is unique that the previous emperor (Nox and Reve's father) produced not one, but three sets of corrupted individuals and their twins. (There is a whoooole reason for that, but that's major spoilers). The first twins, Nox and Reve, were born to the Empress in the middle of a long, tough war that lasted until not long before they took the throne. Morph and Pyrite, who were born to the Queen of the Witch Kingdom, who was said to have been so entranced by the Apple Kingdom Emperor that they slept together. And then the last set, Nova and Star, whom the Empress died giving birth to and it was believed the previous Emperor died of a broken heart by her passing. Because two deaths happened to coincide with their birth, the servants and some nobles started to believe (and spread a rumor that still persists into the actual story) that Nox is cursed and basically an omen of ill fortune, which led to a lot of problems for him.

In the Apple Kingdom it is tradition for the children of the royal family to be "given" companions/occasionally older children to look after them, that way the children have children their own age the royal family approves of/babysitters. Nox and Reve were "given" Mari, who was sold to the Apple Kingdom as a slave (and was technically a slave belonging to the princes). Nox eventually fell in love with Mari and wants to make her his Empress (Reve has a few candidates and technically wants to marry all of them but shush), and made her his consort to free her from slavery (done before he took the throne and eventually abolished slavery). (Star and Nova have... Multiple children to play with, actually lol. Orion (teen!Killer), Pyxis (teen!Dust), Vega (teen!Horror), Cyrus (child!Cross), Sumi (teen!Ink), Iro (a different teen!Ink), and Glass. A majority of these kids are orphans because Nox cant stop taking them all in lol).

Technically Nox was the crown prince, but he and Reve insisted on ruling the kingdom as a pair of rulers instead of just one. They also set a condition for marriage proposals that they both have to be married at the same time (to keep things fair, but also to keep proposals down while they try to convince the nobles to let them marry who they want.)

Other notable corrupted twins in the fic are Swad and Swan (who's situation is a whole nother post, but Swad is Nox's consort and Swan's location is unknown), Lunar and Solar (princes of the Kingdom of Giants, and aptly sized), Kage and Yume (Ukiyo kingdom princes obviously already introduced), Bella and Daisy (extremely rare case where both are carriers, Bella is "passive" technically), and Shard and Nighty (Shard is a shattered!Dream and assassin, Nighty lives with the mysterious Seer named Momo in the woods. Momo is... A trip I swear).