#WRITE AND TAG ME PRETTY PLEASE

[sjaudios]

I'm not sure if you answered an ask like this before or not, but what are your thoughts on ppl incorporating little headcanons about your OCs into art and stuff?

tbh, this question gave me Déjà vu to the point where I think I've answered something like this before, but ah well, worst case I ramble about this twice, haha!

I think it's super cool when people adapt my OCs/add lil headcannons into their fanart/fanworks; it shows how much they care about my characters and the lives they live!

the creativity of the small little fandom I have here on Tumblr is endless, and it warms my heart everytime I see people bring new ideas to the table, because I know it comes from a place of enjoyment and love. heck, even If I think it contradicts the character or whatever, I'd still think it's awesome just because someone put their time and hard-earned talents into making it!

I mean, @pinkcocopuff-aqualoid is always coming up with new, cool headcannons for me and a bunch of other creators, and I get so giddy everytime they tag me! (I've also adapted a part of one of their headcannons into Eenvra's canon, LOL-)

and @itsargyle (hello btw thanks for the ask haha) has one of the COOLEST artstyles I've seen, and def does my characters justice in all the awesome fanart they've made, sometimes even more than me. (no joke, when I saw the fanart of Caleb with their own listener OC, I basically showed it to all my family n friends with jumping-up-and-down levels of excitement, it was awesome).

So, I guess what I'm saying is that I think headcannons are what helps bring VA communities closer, and it helps reminds me that every subscriber out of the 1,107 I have is a person who enjoyed my work enough to want to see more, and there's no better gift <3

TLDR: I LOVE seeing that kinda stuff, so please please tag me, haha!

[kkoct-ik]

IT'S FINISHED! I'VE FINISHED IT!

for the past few months i've been putting together a guide for writers looking to make OCs who suffer from DID, since i have a personal investment in good representation and an absurd amount of autism. and today it is FINISHED!!

it's gone up on my neocities, but i really wanted to post about it too.

here's the link

please check it out / bookmark it / share it if you're interested! if just one person finds this useful and makes art from it all my hours of hyperfixation will be worth. ok. love you

[harbingersglory]

Hello, could I have transfem Signora x fem!reader smut? Any scenario is fine, just need dom Signora railing me 😩

{☆} characters la signora {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader, dom la signora, transfem la signora {☆} warnings 18+ content, restraints, temperature play, face fucking, degradation, pet play

There's a moment of silence that lingers for far too long, the cold nipping at your exposed skin until you feel shivers wrack your body. You squirm instinctively, seeking out the fading warmth of the thick furs laid out beneath you, yet finding nothing but the cold that chills you to your bones. You can't even see, your eyes covered by black fabric, silk tying your arms together behind your back.

It's almost torturous waiting like this. Your knees sink further into the fur as you lean your weight forward slightly, exhaling a shaky breath. You begin to wonder if Signora left you there– maybe you'd annoyed her earlier and she was punishing you. You hoped not. She wasn't known for being lenient when it came to punishments.

But the brush of her fingers along your jawline squashed that fear, your breath hitching as her thumb glided over your throat, the heat of her skin making you shudder. The contrast of the cold room, of your freezing body, to the unnatural heat that simmers beneath her skin is immense– your knees would have definitely buckled if you hadn't been kneeling already.

"Did you think I'd left you here all alone? You're shaking like a dog." The soft, biting lilt was nothing more than a murmur, but for you it was impossible not to hear the pleased tone beneath the roughness of her voice. Your heart leaps into your throat when her fingers trace back up along your jawline, lifting your head and tilting it back just enough to be uncomfortable.

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are silenced by her thumb slipping past your lips instead– you don't fight back, even though the sudden intrusion catches you off guard enough you almost bite her finger instead. You almost consider doing it anyway, but she's so rarely in a good mood it feels rude to spoil it.

"Pets don't speak until they're told," She chides, pressing down on your tongue slightly and laughing at the way you almost choke in surprise. "And I don't remember giving you permission."

You can only manage a garbled whine in response, your face burning in embarrassment– but it's quickly silenced by the click of her tongue and the creak of the old chair you know sits by the fireplace, her thumb sliding out between your lips to drag you closer. Close enough to feel the rush of heat across your skin as your cheek is pressed against her thigh, her hands resting on the back of your head. You can't see it, but you sure can imagine the smug smile that must be tugging at her lips right about now.

"Let's see about fixing your little disobedient streak, darling." She murmurs, digging her nails into your scalp and tugging you even closer, the furs beneath you doing little to prevent the ache in your knees from kneeling. But you don't complain– you know what she wants, and you want it too. "Open."

Like the dog she seems so fond of treating you as, you listen– you're not as surprised this time when her fingers fill your mouth, forcing it open even further until you can feel the saliva collecting and dribbling down your chin. She doesn't seem to mind, even laughing at how pitiful you probably look, drooling all over her fingers.

But Signora is a hard woman to satisfy, and this will hardly do anything other then work her up enough to really break you in. You can just barely hear the rustle of fabric over your heartbeat, gloved hands tugging you closer and forcing you to press right up against the edge of the chair. It's almost uncomfortable, the way the chair presses against your chest, but she always has you teetering on that fine edge.

"Perhaps you can be trained after all." Signora's voice is like a balm, the heat of her body driving away the cold and urging you impossibly closer, until you feel her hand guide you down just as her fingers slip out of your mouth again– right up until you feel her cock against your cheek. "Show me that you can be obedient, mutt, and maybe I'll let you sit on my lap."

You know she's just dangling a treat just out of reach, but you can't help but reach for it anyway.

Your tongue drags across the underside of her cock, so slow you can hear the hiss that rattles in her chest halfway between pleasure and impatience. You take your time anyway, lingering until you reach the tip and press a kiss against it. You almost wish you could see her face, but she's never been fond of expressing anything outwardly when you can see it– just the idea of her brows furrowed, of her face flush and her lip caught between her teeth..it's enough.

It's not hard to imagine it anyway when the heat grows hotter, nearly turning the room into an oven before she catches herself. You aren't stupid enough to mention it, but your smile must be enough, because a low growl makes you shiver– so you drag your tongue from the base to the tip again, revel in the way it throbs beneath your tongue. For a moment you almost have something like control, your saliva dripping down her aching cock as you lap at it like a mutt.

But you're both growing impatient– the sharp click of her nails against the chairs arms makes you shudder, urging you to lift yourself up just enough to wrap your lips around the head with a muffled groan. You consider dragging it out just a moment longer, just to see if you can get her to whine, but she knows you better then you do– before you can even blink, her hand shoves you down. You, predictably, gag. Your throat burns from the stretch, but it's not unpleasant, eased by the pleasured hiss that tumbles from her lips. Signora at least has the mercy to let you get used to it for a moment before she drags you back up, the emptiness in your throat making you whine before she's shoving her cock back down your throat. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your own sounds of pleasure muffled and garbled as she does it again– and again.

"Finally quiet, mutt?" She laughs, but it's strained– her voice quivers slightly as she fucks your throat like your nothing but a toy to her, drool dribbling down your chin and tears staining the blindfold. "If I knew it was this easy to shut you up, I'd have done it a long time ago."

You so badly want to do something, but with your hands tied behind your back and her fucking your face so rough, so fast, you can barely even think..there's not much you can do but let her, your cunt clenching around nothing. You really hope she wasn't lying about that reward, for once. You're practically dripping on her floor while she uses you, just barely able to squeeze your thighs together for a fraction of friction.

It only serves to make you more desperate, though.

"Fuck– or maybe you're too stupid to know better. You'd just let any pretty woman with a cock use you," Her breathing was getting heavier, more strained, but her grip on your hair didn't relent. Neither did the harsh thrust of her hips, her cock constantly hammering into your throat until you felt dizzy. "You're lucky I'm even willing to train a mutt like you."

Your mind starts to feel fuzzy, the words blending together until she digs her nails into your scalp and forces you down again– and keeps you there. You nearly gag again when you feel her shudder, her cock throbbing in your mouth as her cum spills down your throat, your hands straining against the silk binding them together. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, nostrils flaring and your body tensing– you don't even realize you'd briefly lost consciousness until your find yourself on her lap, rather then on your knees, her hands brushing the strands of hair stuck to your face with sweat out of your eyes.

It's the most gentle she's been all night– and likely as gently as she will be tonight. You lean into her touch anyway, groaning softly and shuddering at the taste of her on your tongue mixed with her cock throbbing against your thigh.

"I'm not done yet, darling. Did you think I'd let you get away with a little light training?" She laughs, cupping your jaw and pressing a kiss that's far too gentle to your cheek, the warmth of her body almost suffocating– but you welcome it, like you always do.

So you nod, smiling drowsily and spreading your legs like a good pet should.

[kame-writes]

Random headcanons that are always lurking in the back of my mind about Alastor:

The papers dubbed him 'The bayou Butcher'

Alastor used to bring up his own murders on air, and people would phone in with gossip and theories. He loved the infamy and brought more publicity to his crimes, while still being able to remain anonymous.

He was only allowed a mainstream radio broadcast slot because his transatlantic accent was so good, his ethnicity wasn't obvious. People who found out it was him were shocked to learn he was of mixed heritage.

He was light skinned enough that he could possibly pass as white with a very deep tan, but mixed enough that he didn't look like he fit in with either side of his ethnicity.

His natural accent is very different, with a clear french influence and obvious southern drawl.

He and his mother would speak fluent French when alone, and naturally, Alastor will still occasionally mutter to himself in French when he's annoyed and thinks no one is listening.

In Hell, he puts on the transatlantic accent since he is always performing a character, its part of the mask to ensure he's always in control. His true intentions and identity are hidden away from prying eyes

He was seen as a bit of a social outcast while alive since he showed no intentions in finding a wife, which was extremely unusual for a man in his thirties.

Since Mimzy was the opposite, having many flings with unsavoury men, which was also a big social taboo, they fake dated for a little while to dissuade the gossip about their intentions with the opposite sex.

After his death, the media went wild with the reveal that a popular radiohost was the Bayou butcher.

Years after his death there was a documentary made about his crimes (Probably named something like 'murder on the airwaves') Husk probably knows of this documentary, maybe even Vox depending on when it was made.

When Alastor first started his killings in Hell, he kept up a double identity. They wanted to dismiss Alastor as a threat, and he kept the fact he was the notorious Radio Demon a secret until he had enough powerful blood on his hands to inspire fear. When he finally revealed he and the Radio Demon were one in the same, Hell became extremely unnerved that no one had taken him seriously.

Mimzy used to cover for Alastor while they were alive, since she was the only one who new about his murderous hobby. When she died, she used his notoriety to further herself and stop people trying to take advantage of her, since she had such a powerful friend.

Alastor humours Mimzy, taking pleasure in her giving him some sport in the form of people coming after her. He figures since she covered for him in life, he can return the favour in death.

Mimzys "give him a couple of fingers of rye and he becomes a kitten" is reference to what he was like while alive. She doesn't accept or realise that he is a very different beast now that he has power and reputation behind him. They haven't really spent much time in hell together socialising.

[6okuto-moved]

heads up :p

hello. archiving my blog soon. like in the next month or so. not shocking. i still have a lot to queue but i needed to say this so i can't back out for the gazillionth time 😭 i don't have a new blog and i'm not sure if or when i'll be back. as for 6okuto, i probably won't delete it! probably.

thanks for being here for almost 3 years!! it was really nice writing for the first time and getting to know you guys. please take care of yourselves, and i hope you have a good end to 2024! ^^

and just a final request to tell creators you enjoy their work. i can't tell you how many times one kind person stopped me from doing this a lot earlier. please help make tumblr a kinder and stronger community !!

regular pinned - masterlists

[randomwriteronline]

He was taller than them.

Infinitely so.

They knew he wasn't that big - not compared to everything else around them, from the walls closing off his fortress to the island it sat on, to the silvery sea around it or the body it was still housed within. He wasn't even that big compared to them, and they knew that too: he was only about a bio taller than them, maybe a little more, maybe only half. A sizable, immediately noticeable difference, but it wasn't that much. It wasn't enough to make him appear so gargantuan and frightening. They had stood beside similarly large beings, and while a slight awe had made them queasy it had not been so oppressive.

But there was something about him that made him larger than life. Something that crawled out of him like white marble maggots from a white marble corpse, a strange perfect imperfection that made them feel minuscule.

Perhaps their incomplete number worsened it.

He watched them, impassive.

From how close they were to him (they could have walked up to him; they could have turned that small distance to zero and stood directly in front of him; but they didn't. They couldn't. Something inside them couldn't. Something inside them wouldn't.) they could notice that one of his eyes was not facing them: it was stuck halfway upwards, forever gazing into the sky, while the other continued to stare down at them without so much as a glint of emotion. Despite having all the appearance of a mistake on someone's part, that strange physical quirk had not been fixed. Evidently, it was not an anomaly.

"Good." Artakha said.

His voice held no warmth, no anger, no grief, no bitterness. It was clear and smooth, like polished crystal, and wholly pleasant in its completeness. Something about it almost had them recoil and flatten as if they had been just welcomed into a lethal trap of a lair by the famished growl of a gigantic drooling beast.

They had not expected he would have come to greet them himself. He never had before, delegating his disembodied words and the mechanisms of his fortress to do such a thing for him. Yet this time he had taken it upon himself to walk away from his chambers, from the pristine faintly hued greys that snaked behind him into the deeper parts of his small realm, to stand before them as he did now; in their arrogance, in their hope, they had thought upon coming back to their senses after the surprise of truly seeing him that it must have meant something.

But his tone was calm and empty, a white room with carefully set pastel toys, an environment so quiet and sterile that it smelled potently of the dust it looked to have been blanketed in.

In a strange way, it appalled them.

"You have come back to me." Artakha continued.

His mask glowed softly, golden and splendid. The runes deeply hetched upon it made it seem beyond ancient.

Against the barely visible backdrop of his reclusive kingdom, the glimmer distorted the kanohi into the garbled image of a small, sickly moon, incapable of offering all that sat around it the full strength of the light it could barely reflect.

He did not extend his arms towards them.

"Come now." Artakha ordered passionlessly. "Your work is done."

Something about that shook them from the hazy torpor threatening to devour their brains in too small bites.

"We're here to help evacuate the inhabitants of the last remaining islands," Tahu explained, mortified that his voice was even leaving him and yet unable to place why he felt that way, "The robot's insides are not safe - besides, there's so much to be done outside, and we-"

"There is no place for us in that world." Artakha cut him off.

He had not moved an inch.

They knew instinctively, uncomfortably, that his 'us' included them too.

"Our only purpose is here." Artakha stated. "We are not needed outside the bounds of this body."

"But there is life out there," Gali argued, though the mere act of speaking made her bones want to crumble in anguish to shut her up: "There are people who need us, who could use our help! There is so much to be rebuilt, and all of us-"

"You were made for this world, as was I." Artakha interrupted her.

Their lungs shriveled.

Their bodies hurt.

He remained unblemished in the face of their visible agony, perfect and still; his skewed eye ignored them as it continued to watch the now forever dimmed heavens, hanging lower and lower each day as the metal holding them aloft bent under the weight of age and abandonment.

"There is no such thing as a 'life' awaiting you in that world of real things." Artakha told them. "We are tools to be preserved: if your service will ever be needed again by Mata Nui, I will allow your deployment once more."

"And then?" Tahu coughed. He could swear his arms were melting off of him.

"Then you will return to me." Artakha answered. "As you have done now, because that is your purpose, and that is your only existence."

"And yours?" Gali hissed. Her head felt about to split into a thousand pieces.

"My purpose is to remain here and create, and see that you are used well." Artakha answered. "It is my only use; there is nothing other than this."

He spoke with the certainty of a man off to the gallows, the kind who knows well no dashing stranger or loyal friend will come to save him, and who thus accepts the coming execution with the mellow tiredness that brings the cattle into the slaughterhouse; but unlike the convict marked for death he held no sadness, no despair in his words, no roaring blasphemies nor tear-soaked regrets, not even that drowsy desire for it all to be done. He felt himself not a victim, and not like a victim he spoke, for that was not what he was.

He spoke like a machine that knew why it had been made, and that its function was now unnecessary. There was no poetry about it, and there was no injustice either. The world had begun with duty, and with this new lack of duty it would simply stop to one day begin again: he had known it would have happened since the start.

He had been made to wait until the lack of purpose passed, to one day be put to work again.

But they could not accept it.

They could not, because they were not him.

They were not machines. Not fully. Not anymore.

"We can't leave it all behind," Onua said softly, because his throat was coarse and dry as though burning inside his neck, "We have our Matoran to take care of - our Turaga, too - our friends, our-"

"You have nothing but your duty and yourselves." Artakha corrected him.

They flinched.

"As I have nothing but my duty and my creations." Artakha continued.

Few were aware that he had no brother anymore.

They did not inquire how he had come in possession of such information: beyond their inquiry being a waste of time, certainly it had not reached him in the same way it had them. Like for his reason of existence he simply seemed to have already known, somehow, that his only kin's death upon return would have been inevitable.

After all, one does not keep a broken instrument.

"We're not complete," Lewa fought back feebly, struggling through the tightness that threatened to crush his middle into a jagged heap, "Kopaka and Pohatu - they are-"

"They will come to me eventually, as you have done." Artakha sentenced. "And in the most dire of cases, I will simply make them once more."

The weak glow of his mask sent chills down their spines and almost sent them to their knees.

He had said it so carelessly. Without any inflection, any intonation, any difference in his speech. His voice had remained polished and clean, sanitized, pale colors melting into a greyish nothingness as though the images he conjured through them had not been nightmares woven into song.

He watched them as they contorted and writhed in place as composedly as they could, still slaves to the stilling awe he commanded. He did not blink.

"How many times have you made us?" Onua wheezed. Dark spots stole the sight from his eyes.

"For now, once." Artakha responded.

They wanted to cry.

They wanted to scream.

They wanted it to be over.

"We can't stay." Lewa breathed. He felt only an impossibly wide, horrible, biting cold.

The waves rocked behind them softly, gently, anchoring them to their bodies and selves as they struggled to do so on their own.

He remained unperturbed.

"Come now." Artakha only repeated. "You are to be preserved in sleep: that is my duty as well. You overshot your time active - two weeks had been calculated as the maximum amount it would have taken for you to deal with any issue; after all that has happened whilst you were awake, I assume this will be a... Pleasant... Change of pace."

(He said 'pleasant' strangely. As though he was using that word only out of politeness, without intention, without understanding it. As though the very concept behind it existing was alien to him.)

Then he turned, and walked through the open gate once more.

He did not look back when it became clear no other footsteps would have followed his own; he did not stop when the heavy entrance to his realm closed definitively behind him and he found his fortress once more lacking his most useful tools.

He walked to his chamber, passing the Matoran he had been given across the millennia: they worked in thoughtless silence, as Matoran were always meant to do, some repairing the signs of age upon the floors and walls, some taking materials to their rightful places, some finishing up the count of this or that's inventory, more still tinkering away much like he'd long been used to - perfect clanging cogs of a well-oiled clockwork. Soon enough they would complete their endless work, for nothing else would be there to be done; only then they would stop, and sit, and wait, in a blank torpor that fools might have called sleep, in order to be ready to return to their duties when their toiling would once again be required.

He arrived to the room (not the forge, not for now) and stood before his useless throne; there he stopped, and sat, and waited, staring forth with one eye as the other gazed upon the ceiling in a vaguely aware torpor, patiently existing in a stasis borne of lack of duty.

He was ready to remain for ages.

He had been made to, after all.

But movement distracted him.

A crooked thing walked into the chamber, smiling.

He recognized not the vessel, but the neutral miasma which slithered from its mangled form: it wriggled through the space around him like larvae burrowing in prey, used to permeating every mind it touched, and only regarded him curiously when it found him impervious to the complex, confusing charm of its ever winding workings.

"You." Artakha said dispassionately.

The crooked thing stood before him, smiling.

"There is nothing in this world for you." Artakha stated simply.

"The toys belong to the box, the box belongs to the child, and the child belongs to the parent."

"Leave my realm at once." Artakha insisted without animosity. "There is nothing for you here."

"In the smith's forge the furnace is indeed king amongst the tools, but a tool itself nonetheless."

"I am aware of myself and my duty, my eternity." Artakha spoke. "You cannot impede my function."

"Of course I can!"

He stiffened suddenly; his neck bent under the weight of his head and his body sagged where he sat. His chest convulsed briefly, just enough to push a murky liquid through his crevices, coating his body in blackened rivulets doomed to dry out.

His mask laid cracked and half made dust where it had fallen from his face.

He did not move.

The crooked thing turned, and walked through the door once more, smiling as it crept out of the fortress amongst heaps of stilled machines, crumpled into a pantomime of its mangled shape and silent even of their inner mechanical song, that until moments earlier had been so hard at work on maintaining the broken life-sized diorama of a bustling holy island.

[dollopole]

“The Death Song of Uther Pendragon,” 05x03, has to be one of my favourite Merlin episodes (it opens the gate to so many theories)

I rewatched it today, and a lot of things and questions came to my mind:

1) What would have happened if Arthur had summoned Ygraine, instead of Uther?

Following the rules, Arthur should have been able to summon every spirit he wanted. If Ygraine had been able to respond to Arthur, I believe things would have been very different. She would have been proud of Arthur, who would have changed things for the better, and therefore the plot line of the entire show. Ygraine has only ever been the one to make Arthur see what was right in front of him, even more than Merlin, like when Arthur had tried to kill Uther in the second season, and accused him of his hypocrisy, once he knew of how his mother had died, and since the second person Arthur trusted the most, Merlin, told him that what Morgause had shown him was a lie, Arthur believed him, reinforcing the idea that Uther was a good man.

2) If it would have been possible to summon anyone, then why did Arthur choose Uther, of all people?

Even if the answer seems obvious, I don’t think it actually is. Arthur had always known one person that was meant to be family and who technically didn’t betray him. He still felt guilty for choosing magic to save Uther, and it was actually what brought his father away from him, the only parental and father figure (as horrible as he was) who Arthur had ever had. His choice was also influenced by the date, since it was the day after the celebration of his coronation, and the same day Uther died. The moment Arthur meets Uther in the Spirit World, he tells him, even as he fights with him, that he has so much more to say to him. I think Arthur wanted nothing more than validation, something he had never had, and hoped he could find in the same man who had told him, seconds before he died, while being held in his son’s arms, that he knew Arthur would make him proud. The last moment Arthur had with Uther was the only one in his entire life where Uther had actually rewarded him and his duty with kindness and sincerity. Which means, at least in my opinion, that Arthur had hoped that that was the man he was about to meet in the Spirit World. That rare man who had sacrificed himself to save his only son and who had called him Arthie and to whom he had said he was proud of. But it wasn’t that man, and Arthur left the Spirit World feeling disappointed.

3) But what if it wasn’t possible to actually summon Ygraine, or certain, specific people?

When they go back to Camelot, Arthur and Merlin ask Gaius about the Horn of Cathbhadh and they found out that summoning spirits has always been a ceremony, a tradition, even one that Gaius had multiple times attended, held by High Priestesses, meaning that many different people could have been able to participate, which explains while even a commoner or someone without magic or practice could use the Horn, like Arthur did. Later on, after Arthur meets Uther and Merlin confesses what they had gone to do to Gaius, telling him of his fear that Uther may have left the Spirit World, Gaius tells Merlin that those same High Priestesses trained for years before using the Horn, which makes me believe there were so many rules to follow and accept, which brings us to the question. What if one of these rules was to know in your heart who you’d believe had passed away and went into another realm, and who got stuck into the Spirit World?

4) Therefore, what if the Spirit World is actually a place where spirits, who have either undone/unfinished things in life, or are bitter, cruel, and with many grudges and anger inside, or had died in an unjust manner, get stuck there forever?

We have no explanation of it or of how it works, and no one else tried to blow the Horn, but that would explain why Arthur didn’t think of his mother first, Ygraine, instead of Uther. He thought it more simple and less dangerous, since he had no knowledge of magic and didn’t want to ask anyone, not even Gaius, about it (not knowing Merlin had magic, and still, even he had no knowledge of these practices) to summon someone, who deep inside his heart, he knew was still stuck, somehow, in the between of the Worlds, of the Dead and of the Living. This means that Arthur somehow knew that Uther had something he thought was unfinished, or even going more far, we might think Arthur sort of hoped it, and not only to see Uther again because he was his father, but to be right about his character and himself, as a sort of bitter sweet victory, as if Arthur wanted to say to Uther: “If you’re still here, if I’m able to see you, talk to you, you might have done something terribly wrong, which makes me right, because you have never actually been a good and just man, like you painted yourself to be.” It opens a great theory about where Arthur actually went to after his death, since he was burned and mourned by Merlin and sent into the Lake of Avalon.

Another thing I believe further proves my theory, is that all the people in the show that we see dying, are buried in a boat and burned in a lake. Now, I have no idea if it would have been unusual or even disrespectful to burn Uther and send him on a lake, but even Elyan, and Lancelot, two honourable knights with high status, who before were simple commoners, were burned and sent on a boat in the lake when they died.

All, except Uther.

I want to believe that it was a sign to show Uther the disrespect he deserved.

Others may think that it’s the opposite, that Uther was the king and had to be held on an higher position, and therefore buried in the same castle he had conquered, but it wouldn’t make sense, since Merlin buried and said goodbye to Arthur in the same way as the others.

It makes me think that all who had died in the show are free of the Spirit World, unlike Uther.

It also opens so much theory about where did Morgana, or Mordred go.

6) Did people’s beliefs matter?

If the majority of people had supported Morgana and Mordred in their conquest to kill King Arthur, maybe their support would have been enough to make Morgana and Mordred free, to be free in the after life. We also have to remember Mordred was buried, much like Balinor, under rocks, because it was illegal to do otherwise for sorcerers, to be buried in another way.

7) All these people, buried in another way, in an unjust way, like for sorceres, who didn’t even get a burial, but were killed unjustly, where did they go?

I like to imagine they are stuck in the Spirit World too, and take revenge on Uther in any way the can, knowing none of them will ever die again. Uther’s punishment is to live in an endless loop of what he had put magical beings, humans and non, under, while he, a tyrant, reigned.

5) If this is the case, this must mean, in order for the summoning and the ceremony to work in the Living World, there had to be rules in the Spirit World. Did Uther know these rules?

As soon as Arthur entered the Spirit World, taking in consideration the theory that is just a layer of another world, slightly pulled away from the Living one, where some can see the progress of humanity but not so clearly, as if looking through a damp glass, Uther was able to not only spit everything he hated about his son to him, but he also warned Arthur that he had seen the kingdom he had built and that he disagreed on, which is another proof to my theory that those who are like Uther, or simply left to death in an unfair way, without an inch of respect, are somewhat stuck in the Spirit World and damned to see what happens outside of it, but without the ability to stop or intervene in anything they witness (it would explain why Uther hadn’t discovered Merlin’s magic before, since his goal has always been the one to watch Arthur and how the kingdom progressed, in order to protect his legacy, as he puts it in the episode). Not only Uther told Arthur he had watched him, but he warned him that he had to go, otherwise he would have been stuck into the Spirit World forever. This means that Uther knew that there were bounds and rules and that summoning someone with the Horn of Cathbhadh could be dangerous, if a person didn’t know the exact rules.

8) Has Uther seen someone else being summoned?

In this episode, Gaius says the Horn has been saved before the Purge and never been used since. But someone else could have used it, even a simple person, who longed to see their dead lover and blew the Horn. Because of the Purge, many traditions had been forgotten and the use of the Horn could have been forgotten too, used only by simple people who found it or hid it, and who didn’t know what they were doing, but later found out about what it could do, once one of them, out of curiosity, blew it, and summoned a spirit. If the High priestess were people who were born as magic did, and had held these traditions for centuries, it would also explain why ghosts existed. Many people had been left out wandering without a chance to go back into their Spirit World. Uther may have seen, in a world where he wandered endlessly too, someone else being summoned before him, or met someone else who knew all of these things before him.

Which only means one thing:

The last thing Uther Pendragon did before Arthur would disappear from the Spirit World, was to manipulate him until the last moment, and hurt him in doing so:

With the knowledge Uther had, he may have understood that the person who summoned a spirit could have freed it by looking back at it. Uther was a tyrant, a bitter and cruel and murderous man, who without doubts, tried to kill Arthur in the same episode, in the name of his legacy and of “his” kingdom. Uther cared more about something that he couldn’t even rule anymore than his own and only son, manipulating Arthur to no end, so that he would do what Uther wanted him to. His last words to Arthur, that irremediably made the latter turn around, were: “I will always love you, Arthur.” It sounds as if Uther grasped at the little thing he had, knowing that those words would have made Arthur turn. Uther wanted to get out of there, and did not mean a single word he said to Arthur. To Uther, in that precise moment, Arthur was a mean to escape.

9) But what if the Spirits had some saying in being summoned, and refused to appear?

Arthur simply sounded the Horn and Uther appeared, which opens the door to so many possibilities. Uther had agreed to meeting him, but some other Spirit could have also refused to meet the people who had summoned it, and the Horn basically wouldn’t have worked.

10) What if the spirits simply got more bitter with ages of being stuck into the Spirit World and without nothing to do then relive their deaths, or past mistakes, and getting tired of it?

The spirits got stuck in their world for centuries and forgot why they were there or what they did, while they had lived, and just got so much anger inside themselves, they didn’t know anything else except that feeling, like those who believe the theory that every ghost is bad, and does bad things, because it wants to protect their surroundings, or does it because it doesn’t know anything else. Uther may have being fuled with even more hatred than ever and his true feelings actually came out once he got out of the Spirit World, showing himself to Arthur for who he truly was (Uther has always showed Arthur his tyrant personality, but it feels as if we had been the only ones to see it, until Arthur finally did too)

What if Merlin, at the end of the episode, smuggled the Horn into his satchel, promising Arthur he would have put it into a safe space, and went to the Stones of Nemethon instead.

Suspicious, Arthur followed him, and frightened of another Spirit wandering into the Living World again, he jumped into the light with Merlin, who had summoned Balinor,

and Arthur watched everything unfold.

And Merlin, after 1500 years of waiting, found the Horn again, under rubble and rubble of the Camelot castle, as he had desperately searched for it, and decided, in the last attempt to meet Arthur again, to blow the Horn.

But as Merlin had suspected, the Horn didn’t work, and no one, not even a light, appeared in his way. Merlin blamed it on so many factors, on the fact that Arthur had been dead for too long, or because he was in Avalon, and with an heavy heart, and a weary sigh, Merlin turned around and walked away from the dried up Lake.

But the sound of the Horn had been loud enough to disturb the Once and Future King.

And Arthur woke up from his old sleep.

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

The Winged Servant - 12

content warnings: discussions surrounding medically induced amnesia, royal/servant whump, angel whumpee, discussions surrounding corporal punishment (torturing onyx lol), let me know if I missed anything!

prev chapter | masterlist

The guard took me down three staircases and through too many hallways to remember before opening a metal door. “They’ll be waiting for you right in here. There aren’t guards in there, but those two are plenty capable and I will be waiting out here regardless, so no funny business.” I didn’t miss the click of the lock sliding into place as the door closed.

There was a table in the middle of the room. It had a white tablecloth on it, but it looked like it was metal and sterile under that.

Dubhe was waiting at the table. Dubhe and… someone else. The someone else would clearly rather I didn’t know. They were wearing a mask, blue and gray and big enough to cover every inch of their face. They had loose enough clothes to hide the curves of their body and their hair was pulled back into a bun that hid the texture and length of it—even the color outside of how dark it was.

“Hi, Onyx,” Dubhe said softly. “How’s your arm?”

“Good, sir,” I whispered, bowing my head slightly. “Thank you for the concern. And, um, the medical help.”

“Of course. How about you come sit down, yeah? My friend here is going to stay anonymous, but you can call them Blue. We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”

He was speaking so gently. As if I wouldn’t understand him if he was blunt with me. I wondered if I should tell him that I knew how to be a good servant, or if that was too irrelevant to the conversation. “Of course, sir.”

“What’s your full name?” Blue asked. They did not sound upset with me, but it was a far cry from Dubhe's soft tone.

“Onyx, Mx.”

“And… your last name?”

I glanced away, focusing my eyes on the tablecloth, tracing the gold embroidery with my eyes. “My apologies, Mx, but you would have to ask the royal family for that kind of information. I don’t know it anymore.”

“No? Why not?”

“I gave it to them, Mx, when I was seventeen. I don’t remember anything from before being a servant. It’s better this way. I'm more productive.”

Dubhe and Blue stared at each other for a long moment before looking back at me. “They erased your memory?” Dubhe asked slowly.

“Yes, but- but I agreed, sir. I offered to let them do it, because I wanted to become the best servant I could.”

“Okay, but your offer was before they actually did the procedure, right? So the only reason you know that you offered is because they told you.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I’m very grateful to them for telling me, since they don't usually tell me about before. As is their right, of course.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dubhe whispered. “You’ve been with them this whole time, haven’t you? What did you do when they were overthrown?”

“... What?”

“When they were overthrown. Since they’re no longer royal. Did they just take you with them when they left the castle?”

This was similar to what Dr. Charlotte had said—she hasn’t ruled a country for the better part of the last decade—but it couldn’t be true. “The Rao family has ruled Sathenn for sixteen generations, sir. And I don’t- I don’t think I’d ever seen the castle before last night.”

“So you didn't work for them as an employee, or at least not after the memory thing.” Blue tilted their head. “How do you know that the Raos didn’t just grab you off the street and wipe your memory?”

I frowned. “His Highness Prince Ryan told me that I volunteered.”

“And you took his word for it. Right.” They wrote something down on their clipboard. “Did you try to leave?”

“Of course not, not on purpose,” I breathed, staring at them in shock. “I’m- I know how to be a good servant, I can be, I swear.”

“And you didn’t ever want to, or you were just too scared to? Do you understand the difference in the question I am asking?”

“I don’t… think I understand, Mx. I don’t leave because that’s what’s required of me as a servant, and I can be a good servant. It’s not about what I want or how scared I am, I just don't leave.”

“... Right.” I could not see their expression, but I didn’t think they looked convinced. “And what would happen if you did try to leave? Would you… get in trouble in some way?”

“Of course, Mx. But I know my place, I swear I do, I wouldn’t run.”

“Okay. But if you did.”

“I wouldn’t, Mx,” I insisted. “I swear. I can be good, I wouldn’t run.”

They paused for a moment, but nodded eventually. “Okay. Sure. You wouldn’t run. But do you get in trouble for other things, then? Other, smaller mistakes, maybe? Can you describe… I don’t know. Can you describe the most recent incident?”

The most recent one was… last night, despite the fact that last night felt much further away than it was. “Each morning, I bring breakfast to Her Majesty,” I explained. “Yesterday, I was late, Mx. I was punished for that.”

“What kind of punishment?”

“I usually wear a shock collar, Mx, and His Highness Prince Ryan shocked me three times. One for each minute I was late. A fair punishment.”

Blue had been scribbling on their paper, but froze as I spoke. “So you- when you say punishment, you mean corporal punishment.”

“Of course, Mx. Punishment is required for me to become the best servant I can be. How else am I supposed to learn to be better? I make much fewer mistakes than when I was new.”

Dubhe was frowning at the wall, and I flinched when he turned his gaze toward me. “Tell Blue what you told me about your wing.”

“My wing wasn’t broken as a punishment, sir,” I explained again, not understanding the relevance. I hadn’t understood the relevance of any of these questions, but it didn’t matter, because the prince had said to do what I was told. “It was only to keep me from flying. But it’s- it’s okay, now, it barely hurts, it’s been years. His Highness Prince Cardan broke it before I gave the royal family my memories, so I don’t remember it happening.”

“That’s convenient,” Blue muttered. “Fine. Okay. Last couple questions, because I can’t stomach this for much longer. What do you know about what you were doing in the castle last night?”

I hesitated. “One of the guards said that we were breaking in.”

“Mhm. Were you aware of that before you came here?”

“... The royal family can’t break in anywhere, Mx. They’re entitled to any building they like.”

“Allow me to rephrase, Onyx. Were you or were you not aware, last night, that you came here as part of a group on a mission to kill people?”

“That’s not-” I hesitated. “They weren’t here for that. They were here for… for Dubhe, they said. Anyone that they hurt was someone in the way of their rule—it’s not that they wanted to hurt people.”

“Didn’t they? I’ve seen the camera footage. You were an accessory to murder before you even got into the door. That didn’t make you hesitate at all? It didn’t surprise you enough to ask any of the Raos what you were doing here?”

Right. The guard with the purple hair. Outside, guarding the castle. Guarding Dubhe. Dead, after someone had killed her, someone that had arrived in a car with me.

“No, Mx,” I said. “I didn’t- I didn’t ask. I’m not supposed to ask questions. It would be a waste of time. I’m just supposed to do what I’m told.”

Blue took a slow, measured breath. “Okay. I have good news and bad news for you, Onyx. The good news is that I think putting you on trial wouldn’t get us very far because you somehow managed not to realize that the Raos were killing people. Even after watching them kill people. The bad news is that you are ridiculously loyal to people that have been lying to you for longer than you remember existing. These people are dangerous to everything this country stands for. That makes you dangerous by proxy, regardless of your intentions or information, and we can’t exactly let you free either.”

You are ridiculously loyal to people that have been lying to you.

These people are dangerous.

“That doesn’t- it doesn’t matter if they lie,” I managed. “It doesn’t matter if they’re dangerous. It’s not the same for them, Mx. They tell me what they want me to know so that I can be the best servant possible. Sometimes that doesn’t include the full picture.”

“Why do you need to be such a good servant?” Blue asked. “Why does their comfort matter so much more than yours? They might have the best servant in the world, Onyx, but what is the point of serving them so much if they give you nothing in return?”

This was something I had asked too, once. It was years ago, when I was new and I had phrased it differently, but I remembered it. Why is my happiness less important than yours, Your Highness?

Prince Cardan had laughed and asked me how happy I thought he was. And he’d said that happiness- “Happiness serves no purpose, Mx. It doesn’t protect me or keep me safe or provide me with food. The royal family does that for me, if I do my best to be a good servant.”

“They’re not going to be the royal family ever again, you know. They’re-”

“When was the last time you ate something, Onyx?” Dubhe interrupted.

Blue glared at him.

“... Last night, sir,” I answered quietly. “At dinner.”

“I think that the conversation Blue is trying to have with you would be better managed over a meal. How about we get you some breakfast?”

Blue was still glaring, and Dubhe didn’t look happy. …But someone had asked me a question, and I was supposed to answer it. “Yes. sir.”

“Okay. Blue—paperwork. Try to start questioning Lucia if you have any extra time. Onyx—how do you feel about crepes?”

~

taglist (btw i appreciate you so so much): @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump @risk606

[guiltylovestar]

so fucking excited to see them interact omg

[tagzpite]

Do you have any lore on fish Odysseus because I would love to learn more. Also would you be okay with fanfiction of him?

A wee bit!!! It’s yet to be thought through more but the general idea is that rather than going through the full 10 years of the sea as in the original, Odysseus was blinded and turned to a creature that can’t escape Poseidon’s domain. So even when he managed to break free of the chains Poseidon could keep going after him as he wished. I am debating to keep the Calypso thing and being trapped on the island for 7 or so years still in, maybe she kept him in a pond and released him later on. And once Poseidon is told by the other gods to leave him to go home he does so- then the whole thing with bringing him the sacrifices happens so he’s forgiven. He definitely turned into a fish after Underworld tho.

[itskaist]

i literally had this post already drafted and was dragging my feet whether to send it or not; and then @reapersmarch tagged me for a wip so fuck it we ball

wouldst anybody perchance be interested in an fhr code chart like this? 👉👈

[kodokberjamur]

Uhh so I blacked out, and—

[kittycatred]

Hmmmmmm well since Fungus's drugged I think my craving for chaos is temporarily subdued.............

I empty the box of catnip and fill it with soft stuffing for when you go back to the box

Also here's some treats while SillyAnon is patting you :D

[ sorry rp format change !! </3 ]

red eventually jumps out of silly anon's grasp ( after, quite the dramatic refusal !! flailing their little paws and hissing did nothing to his dismay, except create the most dramatic tantrum xe's ever had, cat or not )

he lands back onto the desktop floor, to finally reunite with her beloved box of catnip, the very kind they were parted with against their will !! (the cruelty !! the horror !! )

although, when red glanced upwards, it was....empty ??

no, not empty.... something else...?

but, ze couldn't see it from where they were, thanks to becoming ( even more ) shorter in addition to their newfound cat self

despite being a cat, red was still reckless and curious at their core, ( and, hopefully curiosity wouldnt kill them here ! ) so, before they could possibly regret acting on their impulsiveness, on what could truly just be an empty box...

red slowly shifted back..... bracing to lunge forward....

and then suddenly !!

huh...?

red opened their eyes to find xemself engulfed in a soft, pillowy like stuffing in the box

they didnt know what they were expecting, but this...? it was a pleasant, and rather comfortable surprise !!

she lightly stretched zeir paws, briefly kneading into the soft cushion to make himself comfortable, and then eventually layed down, tucking their paws under themselves, as xe closed his eyes, purring in pure relaxation & bliss

red doesn't know exactly how, or when their catnip was replaced by this cloud-like cushion

was it the lighter blue stick figure who snatched them upwards, coddling him ?? or the floating hands attempting to feed him during his dramatic spectacle of annoyance ??

honestly ? red didn't care for the answer to that right now

its most definitely a side effect from the catnip stopping them from their existential crisis, however, if these random stickfigures and floating hands were doing such kindness, such as this....

maybe they arent worth questioning further, anyways ...?

all red cared about in this moment, was to rest in comfort

and resting in comfort is, indeed, what they were doing right now

[skitskatdacat63]

For @sansebastinae and @boisinnot, my fellow saint seb truthers :)

+ the usual

Yayyyy finished a drawing! Haha only took me...2 weeks. I kept going back and forth on whether I could finish it tonight, and I really wasn't going to. But then I looked at the unfinished version on a different screen and was like oh? Not too bad actually?? So I finished it :) First of all, ofc, here is the process. Kinda weird seeing it for smth like this, it makes me feel like I'm the painter in rennaisance au, not Mark dhjfkf

Ah I was gonna draw a silly renaissance au comic to accompany this(read: lighten the mood), but it's 5 am and I've still not really drafted it well, so! I'd like to finish it at some point bcs I wanna draw more chibi comics, but when I finish smth, I can't help but immediately want to post it, so part 2 will have to wait. I'll show you the outline though so you can at least imagine 😭

^ So many renaissance and beyond paintings of Saint Sebastian are always the most horny thing ever. Like pre/early rennaisance, yeah he was naked and all that, but they were pretty chaste, and uhhhhh suffering?? Well the newer paintings are suffering, but in a different way, if you know what I mean.

So I feel like Mark's the type to be overly pedantic about it, and refuses to make borderline porn of a saint, I mean, god forbid, Seb!!! But then he just. Does anyways. Because he can't control his lust for Seb even when drawing him half dead. I just imagine him holding the paintbrush in a death grip like "must not be horny. Must not draw him sexy. Must make him chaste." And then he ends up with the one seen above. Seb is all smug about it. "Wow you'd wanna fuck me even while I'm all bloody and dying? 🥺"

Mark: "oh I'll make you bloody, alright."

But god so funny to imagine Seb doing all these different slutty poses, like arching his back as much as possible, the cloth nearly falling off at all times, etc etc. And Mark finally lands on this pose bcs he hopes the suffering will outweigh the horny. It doesn't. Also Seb is genuinely serious once he actually gets into the pose, focus mode on. And honestly that's even worse for Mark, bcs it's so much more arousing to see Seb in his element, focused. Tbf I think Seb could be drinking water, and Mark would still find some way to sexualize it. Don't look at his sketches!! They're just filled with Seb doing all kinds of random activities.

Also! Here is the painting I referenced this off of, must give credit where credit is due ofc

The Dying St. Sebastian by François Fabre

Also this isn't really relevant in the context of this drawing specifically. But I looked thru a bunch of Saint Sebastian paintings while trying to find one I could reference, and I came across this middle ages one that actually looks so much like boy king seb 😭 I guess it really is meant to be!

St Sebastian between St Roch and St Peter by Pietro Perugino

Lmao but do you see the difference between early rennaisance and later work???

[chayannesegg]

red team definitely loves lore and acting, but I really think it's be understated how much blue's actions are in-character. a major upset for red is how blue and green could just betray them immediately and start playing the game, but from blue's perspective this was completely logical and justified. from blue's perspective, this is a game that they are going to play (and try to win!) and the deaths don't mean anything to them bc it's part of the game. it's not a personal thing or a moral question for them. have bad, tubbo, pierre, tina ever shown a particular value for player deaths? no. and all of them have been quite willing to do adapt their approach with the circumstances and their needs.

tina tried being nice and it didn't work? she'll work with bad then. bad can't get his eggs back? he'll start kidnapping workers until something happens. fred's been kidnapped? tubbo is going to unravel quackity. with tina and bad, the easily shifting morality makes sense. they are both demons (or demonlike i know tina was iffy on what canon she wants for herself). with pierre, he's very used to be being a pawn in the federation's games at this point, this is just another game he has to play (idk much about ayrobot sorry).

tubbo is also used to playing the game. he has always reacted futilely to the federation's whims even if he didn't want to! look at his quest to fix ramon's machine. he and phil fought over that, bc phil couldn't understand why tubbo would just give in and break ramon's machines, betray his side? but from tubbo's perspective there was nothing he could do. feds were insistent, he was powerless, and the damage was already done by him being asked to do it. and this game is no different!! he's brought this mentality to pac too. who would otherwise be having a crisis about killing fit and losing everything. tubbo really helped him out by pointing out it was the futility of the game. pac gets to enjoy having a purpose and play the game even players like missa, who haven't participated in killing, have adapted to the game shift well. missa gets to feel useful and like he's not been left behind! he's enjoying himself and wants to participate! most of blue team was lonely, isolated, and purposeless. now they have been given a team, a purpose, and a reason to talk to people! of course they've taken well to this change! why wouldn't they?

[cocainesuperstarblog]

what about last kiss by taylor swift to romanced!emmrich volkarin while rook is stuck in the regret prison?

after that argument, too...