#anastasia's asks

[andi-o-geyser]

a full SAGA of chaos choices at the diner in the centre of your mind

[chaoticspeedrun]

Hello Mr Anastasia! Donnie sir, I humbly ask for your hand in marriage, and in return, I will locate 10 pounds of Uranium for you. And also a brand new calligraphy set, because you seem to enjoy that.

If that doesn’t convince you, allow me to try again:

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-

I am very picky with my calligraphy tools however...

[this-lovely-universe]

Mini Intros: Atlas

Mortal

18

no one knows why he is here

he just kinda rocked up one day and hasn't left

Clear sighted if he tries hard enough

trying to get into college for graphic design

Pansexual disaster

just a silly little guy

is just chilling on the ground of the Hermes cabin for now

And shockingly, who is this lovely human?

omg plot twist guys

When Atlas is typed out in dot points he seems like the most boring boy compared to the other two 💀

I promise there's more going on for him in my head

but that is the last intro until the blog drops

I'm excited guys

@arisdaughter @childofthewargod @dianedantedominic @theorphicforest

@this-rose-has-thornes @ithacas-prince @daonedaonlyskh @hispanic-child-of-hermes @aria-pane @unhinged-waterlilly

@chaos-pers0nified @ariathemortal @i-was-never-sane @gaygirldoodles @smileyalater

@if-i-could-cry-i-wouldnt @hellincarnation

If you want to be added, removed or if I forgot to tag you, let me know :)

[nami-moittli]

Basically those two scenes to me lol

[cbts004]

haii!! i love all the art of your ocs and your world is soso awesome!! is it possible to get some short info on some of your ocs? any lore or even just simple explanations of their personality and stuff? if you have any fave ocs hehe

Yes ofc!

The basic premise of the story of girlworld is this: The world is suddenly being struck by a mysterious disease caused by the moon's rays; zombifying the girls of the world. Along with this disease, strange creatures not of their world that resemble the current princess (Anastasia) are appearing, sapping girls of their powers. Bow and Ribbon, two best friends from a human village, are going on a journey across the lands to get to the princess in search of answers, and maybe a cure.

Ribbon and Bow:

Ribbon is mysterious, quiet, and sarcastic. She keeps her distance from people, but Bow-- being her childhood friend-- seems to always be an exception to that rule. She can get a little irritated at her sometimes, but their bond is unbreakable. Her power is more Mind based, manipulating 'ribbons' (the concept of ribbons can get pretty abstract, but that requires using a lot of mental energy the more abstract the concept). You can see it exemplified in the long ribbon she always has tied to her index finger.

Bow is a bubbly girly-girl, very friendly and airheaded. Truly a shining example of a dog girl. She tends to get herself into trouble, but Ribbon is always there to bail her out. Bow's magical abilities are not as strong as Ribbon's, so she relies on befriending various creatures and beasts in order to summon them.

Some of her beasts: A Chimera (Sonya) A Cerberus (Carebear) and a Manticore (currently unnamed... any suggestions would acutally be appreciated. Something cute for his old man face.) All her friends that she can summon are adorned with little pink bows!

Then there's Anastasia... the antagonist (?). A lonely girl locked away on a castle located in the center of the world, on a mountain. She's very melancholic and shy, whiling most of her days away yearning and writing emo poetry. Has a fondness for roses. She's attended to by her maids. Anastasia is also a Demihuman (I will maybe explain more on demihumans later)

This is an older design-- I still haven't quite settled on a dress idea for her yet. I was thinking her dresses will be extravagant and change design frequently, based on phases of the moon.

Oh. She also has an evil glowing eye because that's cool.

Her maids are Tatiana and Maliana, two sisters. Tatiana is the younger and closer to (obsessed with) Anastasia. She uses bladed weapons to fight, using Matter based magic to use them like an extension of her own body, making herself into a weapon for her Lady.

Her older sister, the other maid, is much more mysterious and distant. She concerns herself mostly with the maintaining of the castle. She uses a very regal wheelchair. Most of her physical energy is sapped due to maintaining multiple dolls that she has loaned her power to. She is capable of being ambulatory without it, but it's quite a strain on her body.

These are the two dolls she has put her power into: Lunette and Solana. They're very advanced as far as dolls go. They cannot speak or emote, but they can commune telepathically with others if they so choose. They tend to creep people out.

I'm super happy to receive any more questions about them! So if this sparks anything else you'd like to know, please do ask <3

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

Would you be willing to draw Anasui? Btw I absolutely adore your art I think the way you do everything is just so beautiful! ^_^

Of course! I love drawing his pretty hair!

And thank you for the request and kind words! I really appreciate it 🩷

I hope you like him!

[angelstones]

i love lesbians <3

[izloveshorses]

this slope is treacherous...

[orionis13]

A dynamic duo can be estranged cousins with the family keys

[dropoutconfessions]

Mentopolis is my favorite d20 season and im sad that more people haven’t seen it

-

[smudgycartoons]

Bobs better with meat, Angel’s better with sweets

[ch0colate-cake]

Percy getting hit with a car please. 🙏

[chaoticspeedrun]

hiii chaotic <333

could i give Anastasia!Leo a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, blue gladiolus, and yellow tulips please <3

(white chrysanthemums meaning loyalty cough devoted love cough, gladiolus meaning strength of character and never giving up, and yellow tulips meaning hope and "sunshine in your smile" <3)

"When Leo came back, the first thing his eyes set onto were those white flowers, and for a moment, he wondered where his brothers had gotten them from, as his mind refused to fully process his thoughts"

White Chrysanthemums in Japan represent death, my bad, you asked me what his favorite flowers were...

[this-lovely-universe]

Are you guys alright?

@kiaradaughterofselene

"Yeah, alright."

"I'm okay."

"I'm on crutches..."

[wyvernquill]

I'm rewatching Anastasia and this convo would really fit in your AU

Hob: look, Murphy, I'm just trying to help Murphy: do you really think I'm an Endless, Hob?

Hob: you know I do.

Murphy: then stop bossing me around

I'm sorry, this ask is already over a year old, but I finally got around to writing a scene based on it! (Plus some Murphy&Gil bits I wanted to put in somewhere, anyway.) Hope you enjoy!

[Mild warning for contemplation of one's potential death, and having once lost the will to life - I wouldn't call it suicidal ideation, it doesn't quite go there, but I figured I'd better be safe than sorry.]

Link to Anastasia AU Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

“Hob.” Murphy interrupts, eyes flashing with frustration.

(Today’s how-to-be-a-Dream-Lord lessons are not going well - not that any of them have, but this one is a particular catastrophe. Gil has already given up on their contrary charge for the evening, and with the way Murphy’s shoulders are up and tension bristles between them, Hob is unlikely to make much more headway tonight.)

“Tell me. Do you truly believe I am him? The Prince of Stories? The Dream King?”

“Yes,” Hob lies, easily, unflinchingly, and with a smile on his face. A good lie has to be treated like the truth, and maybe, one day, it’ll actually turn into one. They’ve been trying so very hard to teach Murphy this, he should know it by now. “Of course.”

“Then, perhaps,” Murphy spits, and despite his feral arrogance, despite the way he holds his head high and squares his slender shoulders, it’s not the regal indignation of a King, but the helpless tantrum of an angry child who’s failing in class. “You ought to finally treat me with the fucking deference an Endless is owed, Hob Gadling!”

(There are tears in his pale-blueish eyes, Hob can see them, can hear the crack in Murphy’s hoarse voice.

Nobody has treated this man with respect in all the years he remembers, that much is obvious. Nobody but his birds. And he knows, they all know, that he’s no prince, that his blood runs red, not blue - runs at all, come to think of it. Endless don’t bleed.

But he wants to be. He wishes he was. Murphy is not Dream of the Endless, but he is ravenous for the spoils of such a role. Desperate to be respected, to be worshipped and revered, desperate to be owed the sort of treatment he has never received.

Hob ought to be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of that helpless hunger for kindness and decency… and he will be. For the rest of his immortal life, he’ll live with the shame of what he did to cheat Death, and still not regret it.)

Hob plasters a smile over his impatience and opens his mouth, gentle, calming words already on the tip of his tongue. Murphy is lonely and frightened and frustrated, that much is obvious. Fine. Hob knew it wouldn’t be easy, to teach their false Dream all he needs to know, and this is not an insurmountable roadblock. If Hob can only reassure him, earn his trust, be his friend, even, it will make everything much easier. Poor thing, lashing out like an injured animal. But Hob can surely coax him into-

Murphy recoils. Flinches back from the admittedly-half-faked warmth, his face, his entire bearing collapsing into itself like a heavy portcullis rattling shut.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls, pointing one of his stick-thin fingers at Hob’s face, “don’t you DARE! I have no need for your false pity, and I want no part of it! I want-” the white of his eyes is bloodshot, and in his terror, in his fury, in his desperation, awash in unshed tears “-I want out. This deal is off. Find some other poor sucker to teach how to play Endless, I won’t do it! I’ve had enough!”

And before Hob can say as much as a single word, Murphy has snatched up his coat and slipped out onto the rainy street, Matthew following - but not after awarding Hob with a colder glare than he would’ve thought a mere raven capable of.

Murphy does not manage to flee very far.

He is in an unfamiliar town, with no money, no valuables besides the clothes on his back that are now slightly finer than he used to be; and the winter is cold and deep and stifling. He gets no further than a handful of streets until he slows halfway across a bridge, shaking with cold more than anger, snowflakes dancing around him. It is a quiet, windless night - and it has always calmed him, to stand underneath the dark sky at night, and know that most of the city lies asleep around him.

Matthew settles on the bridge’s parapet, caws. Hops closer, cocks his head to one side. There is a clear question in his bearing, a what now? glinting in his eyes. Birds are open and honest - unlike humans. Liars and hypocrites all.

“...I do not know, Matthew.” Murphy admits quietly. He has taken the coat, but forgotten the scarf in his haste, so he tugs at his collar, to keep the cold air from trickling down his spine. “I truly don’t.”

He does not have the means to return to London on his own - and at the same time, does not have much desire to do so. He had nothing and no-one there, but for the birds. Pockets can be picked anywhere - he could make a new start in this nameless town.

…if only it weren’t winter.

Murphy shivers, feeling his bones rattle with it. The night is calm, but bitterly cold, and it will not end well for him, sitting in the snow until morning. In the dark of winter, he cannot afford a night without shelter, a day without a sure way to come by some food to keep his strengths up. In London, he would have known where to go. Here, he is helpless.

Damn Hob Gadling, and may Destruction take him! Murphy will have no other choice but to crawl back to him, and hope he’ll be kept on as Endless-impersonator. Hope, because Murphy’s made a right pig’s ear of it so far, slow and clumsy to learn, and outright refusing to play at nobility. He will always be a gutter rat, Murphy knows it. They can’t fashion him into a Dream King, and perhaps this flare of temper will prove to Hob once and for all that there is no point in trying.

There is no point in trying.

Murphy gives up on his collar, and rests his hands on the parapet. Matthew caws, and presses his head against his arm, a far better reassurance than Hob’s false smiles. It comforts Murphy, at least a little. He’s not alone, never alone - no matter how lonely he might feel.

Underneath them, a foreign river flows just fast enough to avoid the freeze. The water does not reflect any stars, but the snow dancing over the surface makes it almost look as if. His own reflection wavers and breaks across the waves.

(Some nights, he dreams of a darkened shore and a sea stretching far past the horizon, black waters that fold up into the night sky, indistinguishable from each other. Of a wooden pier, and galaxies swirling underneath.

Whenever he leans out too far, the reflected eyes he meets are not his own, and he wakes with a scream lodged in his throat.)

Murphy shivers again, and savours the last remnants of his pride, before it, too, will have to be cast into the dirt and abandoned.

“I believe you forgot this, young friend.”

Murphy’s head snaps up.

Dreams and nightmares approach without a whisper, perfectly silent at night if they choose to be. Gilbert is no exception; and if Murphy were to pay attention to anything but his heart racing like a startled hare, he would perhaps be a little distressed by the fact that there are no fresh footprints in the snow beside his own.

But it’s only Gilbert, kind-eyed and not-human, holding out Murphy’s scarf like a peace offering.

Murphy does not take it.

“Did Gadling send you?” he asks, wary.

“Robert informed me what had transpired between you two.” Gilbert admits. “But rest assured, I am here on nobody’s behalf but my own - and, well, yours. Frightfully nippy tonight, wouldn’t you say?”

Murphy does not say. He trusts Gil as little as Hob, perhaps even less. A dream attempting to betray the memory of his master seems hardly like a paragon of virtue, and is perhaps even more suspicious than a deceitful human.

(He does, however, take the scarf now. It’s too cold to be stubborn, and when he winds it around his neck, it smells of sunshine on a summer meadow, warm and comforting.)

“And if you truly wish to leave… dear boy, I won’t stop you.” Murphy does not like the way Gilbert looks at him, as if trying to see someone else beneath his skin. He does not meet Murphy’s eyes, if he can help it. “In fact I would send you off with well-earned compensation for your time, and travel fare. Unless…”

Gil steps up to the parapet beside him.

“...unless I can convince you to stay…?”

“Why would you?” Murphy mutters, instead of why would I, if you’re offering to pay me off? “It should be perfectly obvious that I’ll never pass muster.”

“Ironically,” Gilbert smiles, but only at the man he pretends to see whenever he looks at Murphy, “it is well known among the former denizens of the Dreaming that His Lordship was often prone to very similar bouts of pessimism. I have faith in you, Murphy - and so does Robert Gadling. Please, do not leave. I rather doubt we will succeed without you.”

"You…" Murphy struggles with the words, the sentiment behind them lodging uncomfortably in his throat. "You have great respect, even love, for Dream of the Endless' memory. So why do you pretend? Why try to fool his siblings that I am him?"

For a moment, Gilbert seems ready to insist, as always, that Murphy is, or at least might be - but, to his credit, he does not play Murphy for a fool, in the end. Not this time. Not like Hob always, always does.

"You are quite correct. I loved His Lordship deeply, in a way that could never be understood by anyone but a dream and their creator." Gilbert sighs, his soft meadow-green eyes gazing far into the distance of better days, lined by old grief. "He made me to be the Heart of the Dreaming, and he was the Dreaming, so I knew his heart and self better than any other. The loss, when he… you cannot imagine it, young friend. I thought I would wither away and die. I thought that would be a mercy. To live as a dream in a universe that does not contain Dream of the Endless seemed entirely unthinkable, and to be quite frank, I did not think I would survive longer than a year at most in the Waking."

"I understand," says Murphy, quietly, and he does. He is no stranger to the feeling of being so untethered, only floating along with the end looming over him, death - not Death, no longer, the Endless have been cast from their domains - only biding its time.

(In the first year he can remember, Murphy did not think he would see another, either.)

"And yet, the year passed. And I lived." Gilbert smiles, faintly, taking off his glasses to polish them. "I suspect it was humanity which saved me, for all that they robbed me of my home and Lord, as well. I found… such joy, in this world. In my human form, wandering among them. Calling a few select individuals friends, even. Young Robert's companionship was a particular blessing, and I owe him more than he can ever know."

He sets the glasses back on his nose.

"Lord Morpheus is dead." Says Gilbert. Says it like fact, like something too absolute for the sort of dream-creature born of hypotheticals he is, like an unshakeable truth he has resigned himself to. His voice only barely breaks over the words. "And I shall grieve him for all the rest of my days… but I must live to mourn him. Life goes on, young friend, and we must all move along with it. And, well. I cannot speak for Robert's motivations, but the true reason why I have agreed to this mad scheme…"

Gilbert takes Murphy's freezing hands in his own. His fingertips are not lined quite right, they would not leave prints that look even remotely like those of a human - but aside from that, his grip is warm, avuncular, firm, reassuring.

"I fear that his siblings will not be able to live on without him." Gilbert confesses, quietly. "They are not made to accept change and move on from a loss as monumental as what humanity has wrought upon them. To have you… not him, not entirely, but perhaps enough… it is my most solemn hope that it might give them some form of closure at long last."

"So that's what it is?" Murphy laughs, bitterly. "Charitable concern for the well-being of personifications of abstract concepts!?"

"No." Gilbert corrects mildly. "Love. For my creator's family."

Murphy scoffs. His chest aches with it.

"What you, hmm. What you must understand, about Lord Morpheus…" Gilbert seems to be choosing his words very carefully. "...is that, for all that he was often harsh and commanding, he was so very loving, always. My Lord loved with all his self, even if he would attempt to turn a cold shoulder to the world - and I think you are much like him in temperament, young Murphy.”

Murphy does not acknowledge that. He doesn't think he can.

“He loved his family, and he loved the Dreaming, and all the beings in it. I was his heart, or near as, you must recall, I knew the truth at the core of him.

Memories or not, love as he did, and you will be a credit to his name, and a comfort to all who knew him."

(Murphy does not have it in himself to love like Dream of the Endless did. He already struggles to love at all.

But perhaps, for the sake of the entity whose memory he will dishonour, he can try.)

“So. Will you come back and resume your lessons?” Gil asks, very gently. “You may leave, now or any other time, of course you may. But it would be to your benefit, as well as to that of many others, if you did not.”

“I’ll stay,” Murphy forces out. He could blame the way his hands shake on the cold. “For now.”

“Thank you, dear child. Thank you.” This time, when Gilbert smiles, it very nearly feels like it is directed at him, after all. “Now, let’s get you out of this cold, hm? And Matthew as well.”

Murphy lets Gilbert herd him back to their inn, sits through Hob Gadling’s apology and wonders if it was sincere - he can never tell, with this infuriating man - and continues to learn as much as possible about the life of Dream of the Endless.

But he’s slowly realising, if anything will convince the Endless siblings, then it certainly won’t be the trivia. He’ll have to learn to love like the Lord of Stories, for their deception to have a snowflake’s chance in hell.

(Oh, wonderful. As if this wasn’t difficult enough already…)

[fanaticsnail]

I have no words because I have been thinking about an Anastasia Au with one piece for so long. It's literally the perfect movie for it. This is courtesy of one of my favorite scenes from Anastasia.

Shanks: Stop fiddling with that thing. Sit up straight. Remember you're a grand duchess.

Y/N: *slouches and crosses arms* How is it that you know what grand Duchess' do or don't do?

Shanks: I make it my business to know. 😏

Y/N: Oh..😒

Shanks: Look, I'm just trying to help, alright?

Beckmann: *rolls eyes*

Y/N: Shanks, Do you really think I'm Royalty?

Shanks: You know I do

Y/N: Then stop bossing me around.

Beckman: *smirks* She certainly has a mind of her own.

Shanks: *jokingly* Yeah. I hate that in a woman.

Y/N: *sticks out tongue*

Beckmann: *slyly takes out paper and gives Y/N two tally marks*

Shank Y/N

IIIII II IIIII IIIII

IIIII II

(Sidenote: I'm sorry I have written that Beckmann fic I told you about, I've been so busy. 🥲~🌈🎶)

The way I am desperate to write this scene in particular 🥹👌.

There are a couple of things holding me back from deep diving into this concept:

Finishing Sapsorrow for Mihawk, starting Sands of Time for Sir Crocodile and Forge in Gold for the Donquixote Brothers. I have written a little bit for the latter two - but I really wanna finish the first one before I fall down the rabbit hole of a new series. Because, lets face it, this is gonna be a series.

Naming a Reader: considering the concept has a named princess in mind, I would have to give them a name to aim for. The way I'd go about it is giving them an incredibly long, titled name that they believe themselves is too obnoxious to refer to themselves that way. I don't write "y/n" or "name" or "reader" for the insert to refer to themselves as their working station title (boatswain, counsellor, chronicler) or a pet name. I dunno why, but I do. Not sure how to go about it. Might have Shanks call her "Brat" or "Bossy", and have Beckman call her "Princess" or "Ms Royalty" - I dunno, I'm open to suggestions!!

Shanks is an enigma. He's not one of the main ones I write for, mostly because of my love for his first mate. I need to really focus on his character to get a grasp on him. I feel like he's suited best for this concept, so I'll be running with him. Just gotta think real hard.

The Villain: I need Buggy to be Bartok so bad. So, so bad. But I don't want to villainize Sir Crocodile, which could make the most sense as a scheming advisor. I would have to make them an OC, and that will take a little bit of time. Smol-Snail (@since-im-already-here) might have some thoughts, huh sis? (Help me, bestie. You have the best ideas for concepts. See "WhEn aRe YoU gOnnA WriTe THe SapSoRRoW FIc")

My WIP list is expanding with an insane amount of requests being chucked in my ask box. I feel like I should close requests for now so I can get through those. It's getting a little overwhelming, truthfully.

BUT I WILL WRITE THIS! Fairytale Aus and romance are my thing, and I love them. Sappy romance, twists and turns, dialogue banter - I love it.

@since-im-already-here, @writingmysanity & @lightningstriker deserve a Shanks series, especially with a childhood favourite.