#and “THIS IS SOMETHING FAR GREATER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

[satinroses]

Night Time Routines

How the harbingers and their darlings ready for bed

Yan! Harbingers x reader (separate)

Feat: Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone and Scaramouche

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: “honk shoooo honk shoooo” - capitano, “zzzzz zzzz” - Pantalone, “honk mi mi mi” - Scaramouche, dottore’s doesn’t snore but he does speak in fluent sentences in his sleep and it’s terrifying. thank you for coming to my ted talk. also yes i made scaras pretty purple eyes light up like ei’s when she’s using her skill, the more raiden parallels the better in my opinion

Warnings: 5.3 archon quest spoilers, Yandere behaviours, i have likely not proof read this as well as i should have so i apologise for any mistakes, dark themes, some mentions of NSFW themes but no actual smut, being robbed of making choices, they all have serious control issues

Capitano:

Capitano has struggled with sleep for centuries now, he hopes you take no offence when he doesn’t join you at night however he would never wish to make you feel neglected. The primary reason he stole you away was to could ensure that you are treated with the dignity and adoration that befits someone of your character.

If your hair is long enough then he takes great care in braiding it every night. You’re surprised that a man of his stature is able to manoeuvre his fingers so nimbly through your hair. If braids aren’t your style or they simply wouldn’t work with your hair then he patiently awaits your instruction. Whether you want a bun, a ponytail or simply for your hair to flow freely he will diligently do as you command.

Although some aspects of your night routine may resemble that of Pantalone’s darling, Capitano doesn’t force you to abide by any particular routines. As long as you get enough rest he doesn’t mind if you spend every evening huddled in the library, just please allow him to sit with you as you read, nothing would bring him greater pleasure.

Despite the first harbinger being unable to sleep due to the constant burden of the tormented souls upon him, he does find comfort in the domesticity partaking in your nightly routines affords him. Watching your eyes flutter shut, hearing the words that slip out of your mouth leaving him to guess what you could possibly be dreaming about, watching over you when you are at your most defenceless.

He finds it utterly endearing to see you in this state. His heart feels much lighter the first night you fall asleep in his presence. He understands you may hold some resentment towards him for stealing you away from your home and the life you knew yet he is able to find hope in the vulnerability your behaviour shows. Being in your most docile and helpless form around him must surely mean you hold some form of trust for him. Trust is something he can work with, he’s certain now that he can cultivate this small piece of trust that you’ve extended to him from a sapling into a flourishing bloom and in time, perhaps you’ll forgive him for the selfish decision he made. He was utterly mindless and inconsiderate when he took you with him, against your will. Every day he lives with the shame of stealing you and yet... watching over you as you lay in his sheets, he cannot bring himself to regret it.

He shuts his eyes and listens to the rhythm of your breaths, a symphony that brings him nothing but relief. The knowledge that you were resting peacefully by his side invigorates him far more than slumber ever could.

After some time passes and he truly believes you are warming up to him in spite of everything, he might slip into your bed (with your permission of course). He’s unsure what to do at first, so overwhelmed with your closeness and warmth but as you begin to drift into a dreamscape, he allows his hands to wander slightly (but never anywhere inappropriate, despite how desperately he might crave your body he would never force you to do anything that might dishonour you). The body heat that emanates from you brings him immeasurable comfort as he forgets about the pain of the abyssal rot ravaging his body, instead focusing on the softness of your skin on his.

To feel you against him, your body tucked against his, it brings comfort that settles deep in his bones, not even the heavenly principles nor the curse that eats away at his flesh could strip it from him. For the first time in 500 years he remembers what its like to have a home.

Dottore:

You have the misfortune of having spent more time alone with Dottore than anyone else in Teyvat. In spite of his near constant presence, you had never once see him or any of his clones go to sleep. Once every few months you’ll catch him with his eyes shut and hunched over his desk, you assume he has finally drifted off but then mere seconds later his eyes will shoot open and his hands resume tinkering with whatever (or whoever) has had the misfortune of piquing his interest.

Prior to eliminating his clones he often used them as lab assistants, citing that the only person who he could trust to fulfil his work to the measure of perfection he demanded was himself. As the sun began to set whichever of his clones had the least to do would be charged with escorting you from his laboratory in the cellars of Zapolyarny palace to your shared estate. Much to Dottore’s annoyance, he swears that as the moon begins to rise, the segments begins to rush to finish their tasks in hopes of being the one to escort you home.

From early morning to night time you are forced to remain wherever Dottore is however he understands you are only human (for the time being, however he has plans to change that) and you require rest so he allows you to go home and sleep with the caveat that a segment remains by your side as he repeats a similar sentiment as he did earlier, that being the only man he would ever trust with your safety is himself.

Upon prime having to destroy the clones he is visibly on edge despite his dismissals when you try to enquire about it. It’s evident to you that without having the security of his segments watching over you he is tense. He now forbids you from going home, even with a platoon of Fatui guarding you, he has made far too many enemies to count over the years, he isn’t foolish enough to entrust your safety to some lackeys that even the eleventh could carve through with ease.

Much to your dismay he also states that he cannot take so much time away from his experiments to tend to your slumber and that from now on you will be sleeping in the laboratory.

It doesn’t take much exertion for his brilliant mind for him to deduce that you are not thrilled at this development.

After a few days of complaining he finally cracks. You seem to find a fault with every aspect of his laboratory.

”I’m uncomfortable”

”My back hurts”

”It’s too loud”

”It’s too bright”

”It’s too hot”

“It’s too cold”

”This pillow is lumpy”

”I can feel you staring at me”

It drives him mad. His next experiment will be on your voice, he has to test his hypothesis that there is something particular about your voice, perhaps it’s the tone or the pitch but whenever you speak he can’t help but grant you his full attention.

He prides himself on his resilience but for you he has always been quick to crack. Seeing you in such a bad mood puts him in a bad mood. Suddenly his patience has been shortened exponentially, the screams of his patients grind on his nerves far too quickly, leading to many experiments being cut short.

The following morning you will see two anemo skirmishers setting down a large object covered in a dust sheet in the far corner of the laboratory. You raise your question to Dottore, asking what it is. Only then does he set down his tools, a tiny smirk blooms across his face as he takes your hand in his and leads you across the room before lifting the sheet off the object and looking at you expectantly.

It was a single bed with plain white sheets and a single pillow. It was hardly exuberant but for Dottore to even show any form of regard for the discomfort of any living being was nothing short of a miracle.

If you ask him what prompted this his voice will grow venomous as he bites out that your endless complaints were a hindrance to his experiments but you see the self-satisfied sneer on his face as he soaks in your gratitude.

Admittedly you do still have to endure the screams of those unfortunate enough to end up strapped to the operating table as he refuses to allow you any form of noise cancellation lest he needs you for something (he never has but you’re sure he just doesn’t want to give you any avenues for ignoring him), at least you can keep your head staunchly under your pillow for whatever small form of muting the cries that it's able to provide.

Pantalone:

In spite of your resentment for Pantalone you could not deny the morbid interest you had in watching him go about his day. As an outsider you couldn’t shrug the pervasive feeling that had settled in your mind that his whole day seemed to be more of an elaborate routine rather than a man naturally progressing through the day.

Every paper, painting and plate had a specific place in his life and that was how Pantalone preferred it. One night at dinner you had made note of it and he had let out a rare chuckle as he gazed at you from across the grand mahogany dinner table. He put down his utensils before taking a moment to stare down at his hands, twisting the rings back into place so that the gemstones on them rested perfectly on his fingers, glimmering just right in the light before he acknowledged that perhaps some people might agree that he can be a little particular.

From the moment he had taken you into his home, he made sure that you too fit into his routine as flawlessly as everything else. He had expectations that you would meet if you knew what was good for you. Throughout the day his routine never once relaxed and as such, neither did yours. From the moment dinner ends he has you on a schedule that he had devoted hours to ensure it would allow you to fit into his schedule as perfectly as he wants you to. Like a ballerina wound up in a jewellery box, you would pirouette seamlessly to whichever melody he desired and you only move when he winds your cogs, never before.

Once you rise from the dinner table and he returns to his study, you are taken directly to your shared chambers with Pantalone by your ladies maids. In the porcelain tub within the en-suite sits a pool of hot water, still steaming with heat. Standing there awkwardly with only a silk robe wrapped around you as maids flutter in and out of the room. You stay rocking on the balls of your feet until at last the head maid returns, with her she carries a silver tray upon which rests several different bottles of fragrant oils and soaps to add to your bath.

Perhaps if you had been a little less perceptive you would believe this to be one of the areas in your life in which he allows some leniency but that is not the case. You are certain beyond all measure that each and every scent has gotten his approval before being presented to you. Maybe you should be thankful for this small illusion of choice but it only makes the reality of you situation sting in your tear ducts.

As you smell each one the head maid takes great enthusiasm in telling you the elaborate backstory for each and every bottle. Although its her voice speaking, you can hear his words.

The violet grass scent that had been acquired from the very highest point of Liyue’s immense mountain scape lending to it’s powdery floral notes being far more potent that before.

The sakura bloom oil had been extracted from a handful of petals that had been struck by the Shogun’s own divine lightning lending to it’s typical sweet smell having a bright undertone. You couldn’t stand that oil, you swore every time you applied it, it tingled.

The glaze Lilly that this oil had been diffused from had allegedly only bloomed when an adeptus descended from her abode in Jueyun Karst to serenade the flower and coaxing it into opening its petals. Supposedly its scent was so delicate and intoxicating that everyone who smelt it wept tears of joy. You didn’t think it smelt much different than any other glaze Lilly.

After a dozen more being presented to you, each with its own elaborate origins you simply grabbed the bottle closest to you on the tray, not caring which. They all smelt far too similar to care.

Since the day you were taken he had insisted that there was no price too high for his beloved. Perhaps he thinks you find his gifts romantic, instead you can’t help but laugh bitterly at the irony of your bathing products being better travelled than you are.

After nearly an hour of several maids scrubbing you from head to toe (when you had originally arrived you had refused their help however once Pantalone caught wind of this he had punished the maids for it. You had pleaded with him that it was your own fault for refusing their help and to please not punish them for your actions. He smiled gently, thanking you for your honesty before pressing a gently kiss to your forehead yet he said nothing about pardoning the maids, dismissing you at every mention of it. You had an entirely different group of maids tending to you the following morning and every subsequent morning after that).

After leaving the bath and drying off, you were dressed in a night gown. They were undoubtedly the worst part of the night, although they were beautiful they were also covered in itchy lace with necklines too deep and hems too short for the Snezhnayan winter.

After being dressed you would sit down at your vanity and methodically brush your hair with the gifts he had gotten you from Mondstadt: a boar bristle brush with a silver handle (he claimed the bristles were from a mighty bore sovereign native to Dragonspine) and a Dragon bone comb (he also had this made in Dragonspine, the bone acquired from the skeleton of Durin, the comb was a sturdy bone that no matter what always stayed warm).

Finally you would lie in bed and wait for your husband. If he decides to join you then you can slip gently into your dreams, the one place where you can forget about the heavy arm latched around your waist and the fingers tangled in your hair. On more unfortunate nights, he would not join you in your shared chambers, instead he would expect you to come to him. Shuffling sleepily through dark corridors until you finally reached the tall doors of his study. Your knuckle barely grazes the wood before the door swings open and he offers you a gentle smile before wrapping his arm around your waist and coaxing you in.

If you were lucky a few well-placed tender kisses to his neck would persuade him to abandon his work and join you in bed however some nights he would have you sat on his lap until the sun rose. Those nights you rarely slept well as you had to deal with his mutterings, the candle light illuminating the room and the way he adjusted you on his lap. If you were lucky you could shut your eyes and feign sleep when you felt something hard growing beneath you, other nights he was insistent on your participation.

Scaramouche:

Throughout the countless waking hours you’ve spent in unwilling solitude with the sixth harbinger you were hardly surprised at the revelation that his sour attitude persists far past the sunset and well into the moonlit hours. If anything his annoyance only grew the closer you crept to retiring for the night.

Having no knowledge of his marionette body’s ability to endure without sleep, you couldn’t disguise your discomfort the first night you shared his bed and his lilac eyes stayed glued to you all night, their vibrant hue glowing in the dark of your chambers. You could see the dim purple light in the room, even through your eyelids. His illuminated eyes wouldn’t move from your face as you rested. It doesn’t matter how often you late in the night you might wake up or how often you squint through your half-closed eyes at him, Scaramouche’s gaze stays fixed intently on you from the moment you pull the blankets over your shoulders.

Should you somehow develop a fondness for your captor you will quickly learn that in spite of his feelings for you, he is not an attentive or affectionate man. Scaramouche scoffs at the proposal of ‘cuddling’. He spits out that he will not entertain such pathetic displays of fondness, not even for you. The firm tenor in his voice makes you believe that there is no room for negotiation on the matter, however from that night onwards, his hand remains fixed tightly around your wrist the moment you retire under the covers with him.

One particularly irritating trait about Scaramouche is his insistence that you never turn away from him, many times your awoken by a set of firm hands clamped down on your shoulders as they turn you around in the bed, back to facing him. While you are both waking and sleeping he refuses to allow you to turn your back to him, you’re unsure as to why and frankly you’re not certain you wish to know. There are aspects of your captor's past that you're undoubtedly influence his current actions yet you do not wish to learn such things, not yet.

On exceptionally rare occasions, oftentimes after an intimate night of gently unwinding with him, removing his clothing with all the attentiveness he has expected to be synonymous with being the wife of the sixth harbinger. Brush your lips gently over his skin with a tenderness in your touch he hasn’t felt since… he can’t recall. After several hours in each others passionate embrace, Scaramouche may fall into a restless slumber. You may initially find this rare period of sleep from him to be enjoyable however it opens the gateway to a version of Scaramouche you may find yourself unfamiliar with.

The first night Scaramouche falls asleep in your presence, you soon understand his disdain for sleep. The whimpers and cries that escape the balladeer are completely uncharacteristic for him. You had never heard his voice assume any tone beyond a haughty drawl or an intimidating bark, you almost didn’t recognise it was Scaramouche speaking until a familiar word escaped his throat.

”Y/N...”

It was undoubtedly the balladeer speaking however his voice had been fragile and light as he spoke your name, as though saying it too harshly would cause it to shatter.

”Y/N… come back, please…”

“please...” he had whispered out and the word sounded almost foreign on his tongue. Until now you had assumed the word didn’t even exist in the harbingers vocabulary. His sleep only seemed to worsen. You sat up, unsure whether you should wake him or not. His gentle murmurs were slowly growing louder and more desperate. You watched as his sleeping form writhed across the bed, his arms fully extended as his fingers clenched and unclenched, grasping and pawing at the bedsheets.

You slowly nudged yourself closer to him, preparing to wake him from whatever nightmares was plaguing him until his hand brushed against your night clothes. Suddenly his fist clenched tightly around your waist as he yanked your body impossibly closer, curling around you.

The following morning he untangled his limbs from yours before quickly scurrying out of the room. His gaze never met yours but from the chaste kiss and the way his eyes refused to look up from the ground… you swore he almost seemed embarrassed, his demeanour suiting that of a pouting child rather than an agent of destruction.

As you opened the bedroom doors not long after his departure, the stench of sizzled flesh wafted through the corridors. Some poor Fatuus were now paying the price in blood for Scaramouche’s humiliation as they were demoted from subordinates to the punching bags for him to unleash his rage on. The part of himself that he had buried so deeply, shrouded in layer and layer of bitterness and rage, had exposed itself to your discerning gaze and his mortification was suffocating him.

If he were a weaker man perhaps the humiliation would have brought tears to his eyes but he was stronger than the mewling little wretch he used to be. Like forging a sword, he had beaten the impurities out one by one in the heat of his own hatred and the boiling of his blood until only the perfect blade remained. cold. lethal. merciless. He is no quivering weakling that can simply be thrown away. Not anymore. Never again. In spite of his pathetic display last night he would make certain you and everyone else remembers it.

[seraphimankh]

Beyond the Yellow Brick Road

“A year has passed since the death of the Wicked Witch of the West. Fiyero and Elphaba have found a small moment of peace, living in the Badlands helping refugee Animals. Until a terrible vision turns their thoughts back to home, for they fear once again something bad is happening in Oz.

In the Emerald City, Boq, Glinda and Lion attempt to change Oz for the better, while dealing with an insurgence of Wizard loyalists who wish to go back to the old ways. Soon they discover an evil hidden in the belly of the Emerald City that is far greater than they could ever imagine.

Meanwhile back in Kansas, Dorothy Gale dreams of a girl with stars in her eyes…”

Premiering on 1/24

[thewordfortheday]

Surely, this is our God; we trusted in Him, and He saved us. This is the Lord, we trusted in Him; let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation.' Isaiah 25:9

The word " trusted" appears twice in this verse. The word trust means, you have faith in Jesus, in your waiting, in your pleading, in your praying. It basically means to rest, trustfully, in God at all times.

Perhaps you are waiting for God to do something in your life. You don't understand why things are not happening in the way you expected it to happen. I want to encourage you, God knows everything and He sees everything. He knows your fear , He knows every anxious thought.

It may not make sense now, but He will cause you to see the salvation of God, the goodness of God, the greatness of God, and the wisdom of God, in ways far greater than you could think or imagine. Don't lose heart. Be of good cheer.

[derww]

the thing that bugged me the most after watching the wormhole video is actually that we never got the proper ending for the main plot line that was in it: parrot and spoke's personal relationship.

even though spoke showed that conversation from the end of wormhole, where parrot stood in front of spoke, clutching the handle of the hyperion, and said that he refuses to let people down even if it means he has to sacrifice something very important to him, this does not answer the question hanging in the air. from the point of view of the narrator, after losing op, parrot seems to lose his autonomy, both as an antagonist and, more importantly, as spoke's best friend, after spoke himself talked almost exclusively about their friendship for an hour, both as characters and, first of all, as real people.

"i didnt just exploit a game, i exploited a friendship i had built over the years.". speaking about both parrot and mapicc, spoke mentions several separate times how much it went beyond just playing on the server, that he abused their real, actual relationship in order to achieve his goal. at the same time, spoke does not tell what happened between them – both characters and people – after him receiving an op. in the jungle part, parrot literally has almost no lines – he just stares and stares and stares and stares. until the very end of the story, he follows the path that spoke paved for him, living in the conditions created by spoke.

we see only glimpses that everything is actually – at least relatively – fine. not only because parrot continues to play within the game, but also how he complains to spoke about the unfairness of using teleportation and that after the season ending he even suggests for spoke to become the new lifesteal owner. grains that do not reflect full image. was parrot horrified and shocked, was he angry, at least for a moment, when he realized how far spoke's manipulation extended, did they have to somehow solve and discuss it, or was he immediately like, "wow, you made a lot of awesome moves, there will be cool content!" and everything was fine? sure, parrot loves risk moves and adrenalin, but wasnt it too far?

can it even be "okay" if your best friend has been manipulating you for months for a personal goal? does this cross the line of what is truly acceptable, even in a lifesteal setting? even if it's all for the sake of shared content, even if the community has the right mentality, even if no real harm has been done, even if you're willing to trust a friend that he won't cross the line, does all this change the fact that it's, in general morality, just plain cruel?

although this is undoubtedly too personal to just insert into the video, it should be noted when the whole story is about abusing irl friendship. although i absolutely understand this decision, this is by no means a critical review, from the point of view of storytelling it is strikingly incorrect, as if in the middle of writing a book the writer threw out all rules.

of course, this is an important conversation to be had on the whole – with the rules never mentioned out loud, with an unspoken agreement that everyone understands what's going on here and how, and what everyone is signing up for, when the price is friendship and connection, how far is it too far? lsers are friends, to a greater or lesser extent, but it's almost inappropriate to answer "everyone has their limits" when a relationship is at stake. everyone, including spoke himself, agrees that what he did in s4 was too much, but there were many, many other moments where everything was not so clear, and, moreover, there was no discussion, even in private, which never solves the essence of the problem.

lifesteal is not unique, but it is a very rare system in how far people can be willing to go in a war against others, despite the fact that everyone is friends: most of the pre–lifesteal stories of this approach took place on public servers and against strangers, and friends' servers either remained frivolous to one degree or another, or were scripted. post-lifesteal, many servers of a similar kind have appeared, but only a small part of them are comparable in terms of the proximity of the players and the rigidity of the approach, because it is incredibly difficult to simultaneously allow yourself to get involved as deeply as possible and, at the same time, having received a knife in the back, not want to bury the traitor underground. It's about trust, and it's about content, and it's so strikingly different for different people, and there's obviously no right answer here.

when playing league of legends, one of the important skills that every player needs to develop is not to tilt. at the same time, take the game seriously, but be ready to let go of defeat, no matter how much effort you put into the game. don't go crazy when you lose a line and die ten times, and jungler yells at you as the worst possible being. it took me a few years to stop tilting, and it carried over to minecraft too – where my friends got upset, angry, and gave up, i learned to just shrug my shoulders and try again. but that didn't teach me how to deal with betrayal, even in-game, because the worst thing about betrayal is that it always comes from someone close to you. not from an accidental co-player in a match, and not as a simple accident, but as an intention to harm, even if only in the game. it is a lot to take, and the cost is too high. and, while parrot and spoke are still good friends, parrot left owner role because of the distress it gave him, so doesn't it show the presence of a real impact.

i like that we got only half-truth tho. because it is who spoke is. when he needs you to believe him, he says something actually truthful, and then – his lie and manipulation, and you eat it because believe everything to be true. even now, spoke continues to metagame. he's fine with showing that he was a dick, and he's using that to cover a part he never wants to explain. and he wouldn't.

spoke tells the truth saying he liked to do the impossible, but it is not a full answer. while s4 ending was supposed to be a relief for him, an opportunity to stop lying and being a villain, there remains something else – not only the showdown, but the guilt, the realization that you were so wrong that you hide huge chunks and you refuse to get them for another year and a half. when everything ends, when there is nowhere else to run, reflection and awareness remain. a year and a half later, from the season 6, spoke can end the video on a positive note, but for that long-time spoke, who had just released the god from his body, covered with lightning scars everywhere, absolutely not feeling like a winner, it was a bad end, and perhaps for his character, it couldn't be good.

how old was spokeishere when he did all this, 16? there is an irony that he is the worldender, the trickster, the manipulator, and he's the youngest of them all. sometimes i want to call him dumb for not being careful enough or anything else but then i do remember how he played everyone in s4. not in a big picture, but in smalltalks, toying people while they thought him to be completely harmless. spokeishere being smart is like lifesteal having its unspoken rules – you need to be too attentive to see it. often it is like a... circles on the water. you can't see a fallen pebble, but you can see the waves radiating from it. and, in the end, he is the one who did it, who succeeded, and who am i to judge him?

minecraft roleplay can do something very wrong with you, how any acting sometimes can break you apart and turn inside out. because while you are letting yourself feel like it's real, it is, at some capacity, can be real. and while it is a known factor of being an actor, it's not something you do think about when you go to play a game with your friends. sometimes it changes something very, very important in you, and sometimes you look back on that experience and realize that it hurt you. or not. everyone has their unique experiences, as always.

also, we finally found out the reason the fishing spot was so important. not only a place of friendship but also a place of the exploiting! yay!

[wtfaniii]

Sweet But Psycho

Summary: You are only nineteen years old but life has made you intelligent, life and your father.

Warning: slight smut, innuendo, blood and a somewhat toxic relationship, I haven't checked this yet so sorry for any spelling mistakes

The salesman x fem reader ¡!front man's daughter

A sigh escaped your lips as the handsome black-haired man in a suit pushed you onto the bed and positioned himself on top of you.

—You don't know how much I've been waiting for this —You said with a wide smile taking the man's face to pull him towards you and kiss him with need.

—I know —he replied arrogantly as he caressed your body torturously slow.

From the first time you saw this man at a meeting he had with your father, you knew you had to at least kiss him.

There was something about his personality that made him so attractive besides his physique, maybe it was that arrogant and mocking smile that he sometimes formed or that contemptuous look that he gave to everyone.

A gasp escaped your lips as he managed to strip of your clothes, however, you didn't want him to have all the power.

Being who you were, you didn't like to give up control, you were above him and you made that clear when skillfully turned around on the bed to make him lie beneath you.

—Well well... someone is having a hard time adapting to other roles —He mocked, tightening his hands on your hips, sure to leave a mark.

—I prefer to be on top and keep the pace —You said flirtatious.

You lowered your hands to him pants but just as your fingers reached for him belt buckle the door to room suddenly opened.

Your heart raced, and not in the way you would have wanted, when you saw your father open the door and make an expression of annoyance and embarrassment at the scene before him.

—Hi... —The two greeted at the same time, you with a nervous smile and he with a mocking expression.

Sure, your dear boyfriend was more than proud to fuck his boss's daughter.

—Both have five minutes to get dressed and get out of here, or I'll have to find a new recruiter for this afternoon —The front man warned and then closed the door again with a thud.

The man below you would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of your father, the front man was far above him and although it fed his ego the idea of ​​having you in the palm of his hand he still wasn't willing to risk having a bullet in his head embedded by him.

—You heard him, sweetie —He sighed, gently pushing you away from him to get out of bed.

—Coward —You told him mockingly as you stood up.

You liked to provoke him, to make him angry so that the tension between you would be even greater, but in this case it wasn't like that, he wasn't ready to die.

—What I want to do to you will take me more than five minutes, love —He justified himself while adjusting his tie.

You sighed and both of got dressed again, when you saw yourself presentable you opened the door and right there was In-ho, with a look that would freeze anyone.

In-ho was against this relationship, the salesman was almost twenty-five years older than you, and he knew the kind of man he was, he didn't want him with you but seeing you so enthusiastic about him made him silence all his complaints.

He haven't seen you this happy since your mother died.

Life had treated you badly, your mother fell ill and died, your father was fired and left you with your grandmother for five months until he came back for you and brought you to this island.

At first you didn't want to be a part of this but you didn't want to leave your father alone in this duel either, you were also having a bad time and before you knew it you were already wearing a pink suit, a gun and a black mask with a quadrate printed on the front.

Before long you became addicted to this new life, In-ho almost instantly regretted having taken you there with him because he didn't take into account your vulnerable state of mind you were in, you became a completely different person and he regretted it every day.

—You have to get back to work —he said to the man in the suit, who nodded, bowed slightly, and left almost instantly —And you-

You quickly interrupted him with a wide smile.

—¿Can I go with him?

—No.

—¡Oh come on! I've been on this fucking island since I was twelve! —Your irritated screams didn't bother him at all, he was already used to it —I need to see ¡civilization! —You yelled at him furiously one last time as he walked calmly to the control room.

Even if he didn't let you go, you would run away anyway, he knew it, he had no way to control you without causing you harm because he would also easily tell all his guards to subdue you so couldn't leave here but he didn't want to go to those extremes with you, he still loved you with all his soul, you were the only bit of humanity and of his old life that he had left.

So he just grabbed his cell phone and called your sadistic boyfriend.

"She will go with you to the city, take care of her, if something happens to her you will return for your farewell"

The man at the phone cursed mentally, he knew that being fired was also synonymous with certain death, but he refrained from contradicting the frontman.

—Understood, sir.

He hung up the phone and leaned back in the boat seat where after a few minutes he saw you arrive with your characteristic smile and shiny teeth.

—¿Would you like this to be a casual date? —You asked, sitting next to him.

—I'd rather not, for now it's just business.

He didn't want to mix work with his private life but he didn't refuse every time you stole a kiss from him.

You alone accompanied him to every part of the city he went to recruit more trash to entertain your guests, you found it fun and even helped him with some objectives, however you always made sure that no one who had met you before saw you.

Although deep down you wanted to go to your grandmother's house, see your uncle Jun-ho and give them a hug but your father was very specific about those ideas, you don't have to do that, for them you no longer existed.

—¿Are you okay? —Your boyfriend asked cautiously.

He found it curious to see you pensive, silent and even depressed in a period of only ten minutes. He knew you to be quite extroverted and even impulsive, seeing this side of you sparked his interest.

—Yeah... we just have to recruit this last one and that's it, ¿right?

He raised an eyebrow but decided to ignore it for now and both continued walking through the train station.

—Yes, this is a famous ex-youtuber who lost and owes a lot of money, it will be the last one and we will go buy some things.

You nodded silently and when they found the target you stood a few steps away watching them play Ddakji, a malicious smile appeared on your lips every time he slapped the young man.

When he finally gave he the card you grabbed his arm and pulled him towards you to give a kiss on the cheek.

—¿What did I tell you about public displays of affection? —He said pretending to be upset but he just couldn't, sometimes you were hateful and annoying but it didn't matter, he could get used to that.

—If you complain I will do it more often —You threatened him playfully as you continued walking.

But you felt some glances on the two of you, on some occasions you looked surreptitiously and could confirm that two men were following you.

—Dissimulate, after shopping we will take the gentlemen to a more private place —He whispered in your ear and you nodded silently.

You thought that would be more fun than making homeless people choose between bread and a scratch card, you thought it was funny and a joke how people could be ambitious, they could have eaten that day but they preferred to gamble with luck.

—Idiots —You whispered rolling your eyes.

After done him little social experiment, you and the salesman hopped in a cab and headed away from civilization hoping those two men would still be following you.

They were very predictable and once got the chance you let your boyfriend beat those two until they were unconscious and badly injured.

—Nice way to release tension

He winked at you and straightened his jacket and tie.

[...]

—That's the man who's been looking for us for the last three years —He said as he looked indifferently at the man who was searching around in anguish.

You and him were on the roof of an abandoned building, still in the same alley where you kidnapped the other two who apparently worked for this man.

—A headache for your father —He said seriously.

—¿Should I shoot him? —When he turned to look at you, you already had the gun ready and pointing it at the head of the man who was still floors below you.

He shook his head and put his hand on your arm to get you to lower the gun.

—Not yet, I want to know what he wants, for now... ¿Would you like to go on a date with me and the two gentlemen we have tied up down there?

You smiled again and gave a small bow as he took your hand.

You were cruel, and he loved that about you, so he could share moments like this with you.

The poor screams and stifled pleas of these two men brought smiles to your boyfriend and to you, the adrenaline of the moment and the power over the lives of others made your body tingle, made you nauseous and at the same time made your heart race like crazy.

"Rock, Paper, Scissors, Minus one" was music to your ears and you couldn't help but jump slightly every time the man next to you pulled the trigger.

You loved every part of this man, yes, he was a sadist but he looked so attractive every time he acted this way that it made you wet.

—¿Can I play? —You asked with a fake pout as you rested your chin on him shoulder.

—Your father won't like that.

—¿And? ¿You're his dog to do whatever he says?

He tightened his lips and the attention of the two gagged and bound men fell on you with their eyes wide at what you had just said.

You liked to tease him but this time you did it at a less appropriate time.

—Repeat what you said —He said in a low, threatening voice.

—Awww... ¿did I hit a nerve? ¿You don't like people calling you... ¿dog?

In the blink of an eye he grabbed you by the neck and lifted you a few inches off the ground, the tips of your feet barely touching the surface.

—The frontman forbade me to kill you but... now I can say that one of these two men killed you inadvertently.

You gasped as the air began to catch in your neck, him firm grip excited you as much as it terrified you.

—Go ahead... —You spoke with little air —Prove that you are not his dog

He wanted so much to fuck you like that and kill you right now, you were desperate but also beautiful and he wasn't going to deny it, you had taken over his head and part of his heart.

He let go of you and you barely managed to stay standing, you gasped for air and when you looked up you saw the tip of the gun pointed directly at the face.

You laughed amusedly.

—Ouh... Looks like I really got on your nerves this time.

—Just apologize —He said seriously and with a sly smile —Come on, do it so we can finish this.

—And if not, ¿what? —You took a step forward to let the cold metal of the weapon touch your lips.

—Just do it, I don't want to break that pretty face of yours.

Once again you smiled and opened your mouth to allow the tip of the gun to enter.

With your eyes you asked him to pull the trigger.

He could have shot, he could have still told your father that one of those two killed you and gotten away with it, but he didn't.

Even with that cold, carefree look you kept on your face, he knew you were still a girl who had lost everything and hated her life, a poor girl who had formed that personality to pretend.

He knew it because you were just like him.

And he wasn't wrong, you really would have liked him to kill you right then and there but he took the gun from your mouth and shot one of the two men in the side of the head causing the other to gasp.

—Coward —You told him sternly and disappointed.

After that tense moment you remained silent until night fell, he asked you to return to the island but you didn't, you decided to follow him because you knew he would go see that man who caused so many problems, you deduced why he let one of those two strangers live to interrogate him.

You kept an appropriate distance, luckily for you the motel where him went to see that man was full of windows so you were like a sniper from the roof of another nearby building.

This time you accepted that you weren't doing it out of curiosity or personal benefit, you were doing it because cared about him.

You saw them talking and playing Russian roulette, it was him favorite game but this time it made you goosebumps on end for some strange reason.

You counted each empty shot and when you saw that there was only one left and it was your boyfriend's turn, your heart skipped a beat.

—If you do this, I'll kill you —you warned the air while keeping your hand on the gun, you were definitely going to intervene.

You saw that the man said something to your boyfriend, something that caused him to point the gun at himself to shoot himself one last time, but before doing so, you shot him hand.

The salesman groaned in pain and screamed, dropping the gun when he saw the hole in his hand.

—¡Damn bitch! —He shouted, turning his head towards the window where he saw you in the other building waving at him with a hand and a smile —¡¡¡You're seriously a fucking bitch!!!

You mouthed "I know" and blew him a kiss before running off to get him.

—¡¿What was that?! —Gi-hun said, taking the gun with the remaining bullet from the ground and looking towards the window, now there was no one.

—My fucking girlfriend —He muttered, looking at his bloody hand.

The door to the room suddenly opened and Jun-ho appeared with his gun raised so Gi-hun raised his gun as well.

—Police, ¡put hands up! —He demanded, looking at them randomly an the two raised their hands instinctively.

—Hi... ¿am I interrupting something? —You said entering the room with biggest gun that brought with you.

Until your gaze fell on the policeman, you cursed at the sight of your uncle.

He was just as surprised as you, he knew In-ho was behind all this but he didn't expect you to be too.

—It seems I have the advantage here so why don't you guys put down your weapons and we can talk like civilized people ¿does that sound okay? —You said with a closed-lip smile but your eyes remained fixed on Jun-ho.

—¡I just want him to take me to his owner! —Gi-hun demanded, pointing at your man in the seat, who was bandaging his hand with a handkerchief.

—I am him owner —You said arrogantly —I'm sorry, honey —apologized to him without lowering your gun or your defensive stance.

—Liar, you enjoyed doing it —He said through clenched teeth and annoying.

You winked and turned your attention back to your uncle but before could say another word you felt a strong blow to the head that knocked you unconscious.

—¡That bitch is crazy! —shouted the man they had previously tortured, still tied by the ankles and half naked, he had hit you with a fire extinguisher —¡She and his deranged boyfriend killed my friend! —He added, pointing at the black-haired man in a suit.

—¿Boyfriend? —Jun-ho asked quietly as he approached you to make sure you still had a pulse.

—I'm dead —the salesman murmured as he watched you lying unconscious on the floor.

If they didn't kill him, your father would.

[elbiotipo]

This is from one of my worldbuilding posts in response at the bias of temperate climates being considered the "default" in fantasy and fiction in general (so these are tags in response to tags in another post but try to keep up)

This is very true, and as someone from a subtropical region who has never truly seen snow, to me the danger that cold weather represents is, let's use the word, "exotic" when I read into writing. Things do get cold here, but the fact that there are entire months where things get cold enough that nothing grows and staying outside can outright kill you is not something I would get used to easily.

This is ESPECIALLY relevant when you're doing worldbuilding on pre-industrial societies. Nowadays we can go to the store in the deep of winter, but when most of the population is composed of subsistence farmers, the above dangers are more than fatal. In temperate regions, a great deal of effort in daily life was spent into getting ready for the winter; storing harvested crops and meat in one way or the other until the spring. A harsh winter or a bad harvest could and did mean people just starved to death.

In tropical and subtropical regions, you don't usually get a season where nothing grows. Actually, you do, most have a rainy and a dry season of some sort (in my region, you do get a relatively strong winter, but the main difference is rainy/dry), so the pace of life is regulated by rain, and there's also a greater diversity of crops (see for example the milpa/three sisters system of the Americas, still used today). It doesn't necessarily mean that tropical and subtropical regions had better food all the time, since they also faced the same challenges of dealing with bad harvests, droughts, and more (DROUGHTS, especially, are the kind of civilization-ending event), but they did sustain overall high population densities and extensive systems of irrigation. I'll admit I read this long ago and don't know where to look at it, but a good comparison would be the higher density of villages and small plots in rice-producing regions compared to those in more temperate places. The Americas were completely disrupted by European colonization so it's hard to make sweeping statements about them but if we believe 1491's research (there are some points in dispute there), they had very, very high population densities, and partly this must be because of year-round cultivation of a great variety of tropical and subtropical crops.

Indeed, cold places far away from fishing, for example, often had low populations because there simply wasn't enough reliable crops to support them. Until the widespread adoption of a calorie rich crop that can tolerate cold conditions. Can you guess which it is?

[thatrabidwolf]

Questions to ask yourself when creating a magic system

I have more questions for you!!! :D

As there are no real-word examples for this one, I’m going to be talking a lot about my own magic systems, and those of the medias I enjoy! There will be a list of all the things I referenced at the bottom!

What does magic DO

Exactly the title. What does magic do? (Can it make potions? Cast spells? Animate things? Transfigure things? Create things? Kill things? Cast hexes or charms? Multiple of these?)

What does magic have an affect on? What does it not?

How strong is magic? What are its limits? How do these differ from person to person, or place to place? 

Does magic do different things for different people?

How does a magic caster’s intention for a ‘spell’ affect it? Is magic entirely reliant on a mental image of what is wanted, or does it need to be casted a certain way to work, like a recipe?

How is magic casted? (Note- I recommend being creative here! It doesn’t have to just be waving a wand. It can be through making pottery, it can be through sewing certain patterns, or dancing a certain dance, etc etc etc)

How can spells be used for something that is not their intended/common purpose? How are new uses of magic discovered? Which uses are most common, and why?

How does societal standards affect the use of magic? Will less people know about more harmful or taboo spells? Will it be less common for, say, a woman to use/be trained in magic?

Source of Magic 

Where does magic come from? (Do the gods give access to their most devout followers? Is it handed down in one’s blood? Does it come from the earth?)

Is magic learnt, or are people born with it? (E.g does magic work through potions that can be made by anyone with the right ingredients, or is it only possible if one has magic already in their blood?)

Can someone who logically shouldn’t know magic learn/possess it by alternate means? (E.g. Luz from The Owl House learning magic  via ‘glyphs’ despite not being a witch) how would people treat this? (Is it seen as ‘lesser’ or somehow not ‘real’ magic?)

Can magic be harnessed through a wand/staff/etc? Can it only function through this conduit, or can it be done without? How does magic function if it does not have the aforementioned conduit? (Is it harder to manage? Is it more dangerous? Is it simply lesser?) 

Another dot-point because the last one was far too long; how is the use of ‘magical aides’ (wands, etc) treated? (Is it seen as something only a child would use? Is it very common? Is not using one seen as dangerous and bad?) How does the function of magical aides affect this? (Note- a very good example of this is the string in A Marvellous Light, which functions via ensuring a magicians cradles [hand movements one does to cast a spell] are more precise. It is only used by those with little magic, so it is looked down upon.)

How would one learn magic? (Is magic taught in schools? Are there books on it?)

Can magic be done/enhanced if multiple people cast it together? How would this be done? 

Is magic a separate entity from it’s user? Is it an entity at all? Can it react without instruction/ disobey it’s user? Is it a possession of it’s user? Is this different/ perceived differently for different people?

Can magic be mistreated/ abused? (Note- here I do not mean an ‘abuse of power’ I mean abuse in the way one could abuse a pet) what are the consequences of this? (Might magic stop working, or turn on it’s user?)

Affect on Culture/the greater world

Who has magic? Who does not? Who knows about magic? Who does not? Is it a secret? How is this secret kept? Who enforces that it must be a secret? What is the punishment for letting the secret be known?

Can people have more or less magic? Can people have more or less knowledge on it, or skill with it? Does this cause any power imbalances or issues for either side? 

How do the uses of magic impact the way things are done? (E.g. if there is a spell used to dry things, people may not use drying racks.) would the skills of those with more magic be useful in a work setting? (E.g. if some people know the aforementioned drying spell and some do not, might those who do know it work as something close to a washerwoman because of their skill?)

Is magic regulated at all? Who regulates it, what are the regulations, how strict are they, and what are the punishments for breaking them?

Is magic seen as normal? (Keep in mind: if magic is possessed by a majority of people, it very well may be. Because of this, characters may be less likely to be impressed by magic. Think about how this will affect the language surrounding magic, and how people treat it.)

How will different people view or interact with magic? (E.g. a rebellious teen, a businessman and an elderly woman are not going to have the exact same view or uses of magic. Try to explore this!)

How will those with a great deal of magic view those without/ without a great amount, and vice versa? How does this affect the world and it’s prejudices?

Consequences

How can magic hurt a person if misused/overused/ used at all? (Is the damage physical, mental, physiological, all three?) (E.g. my own magic system causes people to actively unmake themselves as they use their magic, leading to sickness, insanity, derealisation, hallucinations, etc etc etc)

Is this damage known? How does the knowledge of it affect the treatment of magic? (Are people terrified of it? Do they not care, and see it as a worthy risk? What might lead  someone to push through the damage?)

How does this damage manifest, and how noticeable is it? (E.g. Are there physical scars or other warning signs, or is it entirely unnoticeable until it is too late, like magical rabies?)

Can damage from magic be reversed or healed? How? Can potential damage be avoided? How? 

Can one’s magic turn on oneself? How would this happen, and what are the consequences of this? 

Can magic be hurt/diminished? How does this affect its users? (E.g. silver and werewolves)

When an attempt at magic fails, how does it fail? Is it like baking, where at worst it’ll ‘taste good, but be a little dry’ or is it like mixing volatile chemicals, where at worst you die?

Appearance

How does magic look? (I highly recommend finding a metaphor or motif for magic, as this really helps flesh out its appearance and makes it easier to describe!!)

Can its appearance look different for different people? Can it change over time?

Does magic manifest itself via means other than visual? (One of my characters has very strong nature magic, and thus he grows flowers when he is happy, and always smells floral)

Does magic have a physical effect on it’s users? (E.g. the dark magic in The Dragon Prince)

Is one able to tell when magic has been cast upon something? 

Every piece of media I referenced in this, in order of appearance

The Owl House, a TV show on Disney written by Dana Terrace

A Marvellous Light, a novel written by Freya Marske (this series is a wonderful example of how to make a magic system. It is very well thought out, and the varied experiences and views of magic for each magician character is so, so good. 10/10. If you want a good example of magic please read this!!! (Granted I might be a little biased because I just love this book series))

The dragon prince, a TV show on Netflix

[kirkwallguy]

I agree so much with you that Solas is an active detriment to the Dragon age setting. I am replaying Origins, and my incredibly hot take is that Solas recycles a significant amount of Keeper Zathrian's character, in order to create a more "epic" scale narrative that imo is also much weaker and messier than the original Zathrian to the overall scope of the world and to player engagement.

They're both bald magic elves who have been alive for absurd lengths of time, and who are convinced of their own righteousness even when their actions cause or will cause great and unending harm to those around them. At least with Zathrian his "optimal" narrative path (whatever that may be to the player) isn't gated off behind playing a straight woman, my Tabris can butch out with Leliana all I want and still access all modes of narrative engagement with Zathrian, and the Dalish within the Zathrian quest are granted legitimacy and dignity in their beliefs.

I am not a fan of the reveal that the Dalish gods were functionally just powerful mages, it's so obviously a plot beat written by a certain type of atheist who don't see how anyone could have faith in a greater force, or have curiosity about that mode of moving through the world, which is made even sillier when the setting has dragons and ghosts and stuff. Its so similar to the type of story that takes greek/norse/egyptian gods and re-imagines them as regular guys, functionally wizards, in an urban fantasy setting, wanting the power and drama but shedding the belief systems that go along with the gods, and what those systems do and mean to people. There's so much awe and wonder and hope in the codex entries in the Origins Dalish camp - are these gods gone for good, can they ever return and can the Dalish ever go home either with or without their gods' presence? What do the gods mean to a people who have suffered so much and safeguard those pieces of divinity that remain in stories and song and crafts? What might these echoes of distant gods mean to the city elves, so far removed from what once was but still cherishing the traditions they do have? But no, the Dalish were fools for their tattoos and their beliefs, and all the history and remembrances Zathrian kept and passed on to his people was false. What an idiot. Who even remembers that guy?

Anyways, you don't have to post my anonymous tirade, I just am a huge fan of one (1) bald elf so deep in guilt and tragedy and the weight of history that he is either blind to the harm he may cause, or so secure in his pride and belief in his own righteousness that he chooses to close his eyes to that harm. And that elf is not Solas.

i always giggle when i get to zathrian because he's so obviously prototype solas.

and despite his situation, zathrian's goals feel mostly grounded, we see him amongst the clan and understand his dynamics with the people around him. it's kind of impossible to fully grasp solas' whole deal because it's so hypothetical, all these things happened offscreen to characters with incomprehensible power who may have just been spirits at the time anyway. who give a shit...

and i agree with the religion thing but i'd say i always read dai and dav's handling of religion more as being liberal christianism than overzealous atheism. i wrote this post about dai, and i think dav only made it more true:

there's so little exploration of religious practices in dalish culture, dai at least does a little bit with those few sidequests, but dalish clans in dav are something just distantly spoken about and never fully explained. and this is in a game ABOUT the dalish gods. how is bellara saying (over and over again) "our gods are back!!! D:" supposed to hit when we don't know what significance the gods actually have? 😑 they had something really interesting in origins and da2, but it just feels like any other contextless fantasy pantheon now

[ghostsandguns]

Repost because Tumblr keeps messing with my posts and I want to check if it works!

Prosecutor!gaz and detective!soap who have a friendly rivalry while you're stuck in the middle as the secretary

You love working for Kyle. He's a great boss and an even greater prosecutor. Though the hours can be long, the pay makes up for it. The real satisfaction, however, comes when he walks back into the office, sleeves rolled up, a triumphant smile on his face as he tells you that he's won the case.

On those late nights, when overtime is inevitable, he always orders takeout for the two of you, which you share in his office as he humorously complains about the latest trouble Detective MacTavish has caused.

Since you began working for Kyle two years ago, you've become well acquainted with the detective. He's loud, a bit too eager at times, yet you can't help but appreciate his presence. Sometimes you suspect it's his personal mission to annoy your boss at every possible turn.

Whenever he visits, it's always with a box of donuts in hand—the only reason Kyle will even entertain seeing him in his office. From behind your desk, you can't help but snicker as you watch the two of them bicker over something trivial.

Today's one of those days where they've been discussing a case for what feels like hours, the door staying closed for far too long. You glance at your watch, ready to sign off, but then you feel a bit guilty for the guys. Deciding to offer them a drink, you knock and open the door—only to be met with a surprising sight.

Kyle is standing next to his desk, jacket discarded, hair mussed, and his blouse undone just enough to reveal a hint of chest chair. Detective MacTavish, however, is perched on said desk, positioned between your boss's legs, still gripping the other man's tie. You can only stare at them, your gaze lingering on their red, glistening lips before the detective finally speaks up.

''Come on in then, lass''

For anyone that's seen Law and Order SVU, this is totally based on Barba and Carisi

[wigglebox]

Obviously this place isn’t Instagram but I wanted to let y’all know I’m gonna delete my Instagram probably later today.

TLDR: Deleting Instagram, I’m on Bluesky, here and RedNote. Explore the internet more!

*~*

I don’t like META but I’m forced to have a personal account for my job. But I want to get rid of every Instagram I have.

Being an artist online is a daily struggle to share your work and be seen and feeling encouraged to create more. We want others to see our stuff. The art we make for ourselves we don’t always share.

This is a truth I’ve known for a while now but didn’t wholly process until Saturday that we need to explore more. We need to explore new methods and apps and websites and delivery systems.

When the TikTok blip happened for us Americans many of us were panicking because of the greater implication of our rights. But, in the lead up to said blip, I saw many people talking about how they were coding their own spaces and other apps. Bluesky is coming out with an Instagram rival and I’ve seen several alternatives to tiktok in development.

Every social media website and app, or really anything that encourages mass gatherings of people online, has a life cycle. Some end quick and some end over an extended period of time. People my age really understand this as we have been online since the Wild West of the internet age. I’ve seen every phase of Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. I’ve seen the rise and fall of spaces like Gaiaonline, Xanga and MySpace.

The issue with Facebook is what I call the “META Virus” and it acts like a vampiric parasite, sucking the life out of corners of the internet to keep its zombie self alive. Instagram was one of these places. Facebook should not have lasted more than 7-8 years as most. It was an early social media website and far superior ones sprung up behind it. But it’s a zombie now.

So, at the end of the day, I’m just going to delete my accounts there.

I think it’s very important we explore. Pretend these are little worlds or galaxies and explore. I know we want to keep fandoms alive and there’s no reason to suggest they won’t on other platforms. You just have to find your people.

You can find me currently on Tumblr, obviously, and BlueSky and RedNote (xiaohongshu).

I’ve deleted many of my tiktok videos to go back to 2023 mostly and don’t plan on posting there. I want to make art videos but I don’t want to post those videos where people aren’t interested.

I will be exploring pixelfed and other apps and I have followed the developers of even more apps and websites. I’ll post about any one I join to here and Bluesky but when in doubt, I’ll always be wigglebox or wiggleboxart!

I’m also exploring making a Neocities page as a sort of landing site for me and see if I can set up a newsletter or Patreon. If I set a Patreon up the tiers will be low. Probably just one for like, $2 or something. Mostly because for us Americans it’s going to be a penny pinching way going forward.

I’m not sure yet about Patreon yet I’m still brainstorming that.

Suffice it to say, after all this rambling, we need to be internet explorers (not THAT internet explorer) much like we were in the early 2000s if you remember that time.

Thank you for reading and understanding!

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Ive been thinking about my witch's road au idea of Lena travelling the road with the other covenless witches. Some of the new thoughts include Lena being so new to the craft and culture that she doesn't understand that a ton of witches believe the road is real, she just thought it was witchy tune. Another thought is that she and Jen kind of bond as business women in their ways, and just kind of being generally the same age.

And then I was thinking about Lena's trial. Like, technically she's there as the green witch (don't ask me why Rio would still be there also, she just would be), but her trial is about her family-- or perceived lack thereof. She's presented specters of her family, both adopted (the Luthors) and found (the superfriends), but neither truly satisfies her desire for true family, do they? Her need for belonging, for heritage, for a link to her mother.

And through the trial Lena comes into her own as a true witch, as she comes to the realization that her magic not only ties her to her mother, but to every witch in their family prior, and to all the covens they belonged to. She is bonded with them whether she knows it or not, whether she can see them or not-- they are there, guiding her hands and shaping her spells. They are many become one, and she is the one.

I also imagine that after she succeeds at her trial, she's full of power and confidence. Her new understanding seems to transcend her into something greater than she was before, a witch not only in her own right but with the power of those who had come before, who linger still.

So when the Salem Seven catch up with them at the end of Lena's trial, Lena is perfectly at ease when she tells the others to go and leave her behind.

"What? No!" Jen declares. "No, we do this together."

"My contribution to the road is done," Lena says, zenlike. She smiles. "The rest is up to you."

"The seven will kill you, Lena! No one witch can stand against them!"

"Then it's good I'm not facing them alone," Lena returns blithely. "Go."

Jen ultimately obeys, leaving Lena to face their pursuers alone. But as Lena says: she is not alone. With the group's path at her back, Lena squares up against the animalistic witches calmly.

"Do you even remember why you're chasing Agatha?" Lena asks them.

"Vengeance...." one hisses.

"For deaths you don't remember, if you ever saw it happen at all. Do you remember why Agatha killed them?"

The Seven twitch and scritch, unable to remain still. They study her, as predators would watch their prey. Lena meets their gazes calmly.

"Abandon your revenge," she prods, "and resume your lives. Or what little remains of them."

"Neverrrrr!" comes the answering rattle.

As one, the Salem Seven lash out with their magic, intending to catch Lena unawares. But as she'd spoken Lena had woven a shield of spectral roots and vines around her, seething and intertwining like living thing. It shields her from every attack at every angle, giving her power time to build.

Her magic gathers between her palms, pouring not only from herself, but from the others. From her mother, standing at her right shoulder, and her grandmother at her left. From their covens and the covens before them, stretching back through time until she pulls from the very earth itself.

Its radiance shines so brightly that the Seven barely have time to quail beneath it before it incinerates them entirely, their own magics far insufficient to protect them from the onslaught. After they flake away into dust, Lena holds onto the power for a moment longer, and turns to meet her mother's gaze.

"Thank you," she says to the spirit. "I love you."

Her mother's shade nods once, its smile warm with pride, before fading away with the rest of the magic that bleeds back into the earth.

Letting her hands drop to her sides, Lena studies the empty room around her, then turns towards the path she'd been protecting. A path that is now a solid wall, no door in sight.

"Great," Lena grumbles. "Now how the hell do I get out of here?"

[wisteriasymphony]

Smudges - HPAU!Claudrien Ficlet

(This was voted on by the lovely people over in the Claudrien Nation community! Thanks guys :3 )

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

There had really only ever been two people that Claudia felt like she clicked with here at this stupid fucking wizard school.

 ...Well, 'people' was generous. 

She knew she had to take what she could get—Decent Slytherins were few and far between, and the ones that she might've had an actual chance at tolerating were scared away by the fact she'd tried to burn someone's face off within the first week. Claudia didn't particularly mind being known as 'the smuggler' or 'the firebrand', either, so long as it kept the wrong people from trying to fuck with her. 

Unfortunately, her first friend seemed drawn to these qualities like a moth to a flame—Adrien Agreste. Ravenclaw, with blood supposedly as pure as freshly fallen snow. He paid absurd amounts of money for muggle ballpoint pens, and somehow decided that was enough to make her his closest confidant. He was constantly scribbling down formulas and made-up incantations on whatever rolls of parchment he could carry ("Aren't they all just made up?" she asked once. "Exactly!" was the only answer she ever got). At first, Claudia was worried that he didn't realize socializing with her would make him a pariah, but it seemed like he had always been that way despite being pureblooded and actually quite pretty. Adrien was always mumbling to himself, always distracted with the latest experiments, and he couldn't approach a girl to save his life. 

Plus, he was always—ALWAYS—covered in ink. 

Safe to say, he wasn't nearly as much of a jackpot as his attractiveness would make him out to be. No larger friend group, no greater connections, just another fellow outcast. 

It was only a few weeks later, though, that Claudia gained her second friend. She didn't have the slightest idea how that cat had gotten into her room, but he had. Skinny, black, with bright green eyes that could probably stop a deer in its tracks. He lingered on her windowsill for a moment, simply watching her, before slowly creeping inside. 

"I didn't know you got a cat," Maya Kapoor had asked, once the cat had found its way into Claudia's lap. "What's his name?" 

Claudia squished the kitty's head between her hands, watching his ears flatten out. "I asked, but he didn't tell me." 

The Slytherin girls had a special way of giggling when Claudia said something that only a muggleborn would think. Wheezy and whispery, like they were only pretending to operate on the idea that she couldn't hear them. All behind hands or over shoulders. 

"Cats can't talk, Perreault," Maya replied, giving her a smile with too much gum and not enough sincerity. "Seriously, when has an animal ever talked to you?" 

As if it wasn't unreasonable for her to think animals could talk when there was shit like flying broomsticks and living chocolate animals running around. But shouting about it wasn't worth it. 

"I just assumed I wasn't worth talking to."

Maya shrugged, reaching in to touch a finger to the cat's back. Despite acting so friendly to Claudia, he froze, crumpling up further into her lap. Maya frowned, but ultimately ignored the slight.

"So you're gonna name him, right?"

The cat's head is cradled in her hands, and she stares into his eyes, pursing her lips as she thought of a name. Kitty? No. Cat? No. Blacky? Absolutely the worst possible idea. Maybe it'll sound less stupid if it's French, she thinks. Hopefully nobody will notice. 

"Chat Noir," she said, biting her lip so she wouldn't add an "..I think" to the end. Chat Noir's eyes seem to sparkle as she said this, burrowing his chin deeper into Claudia's hands. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"Hey, Claudia! You're not busy right now, right?" 

Adrien had another one of his contraband pens held between his pointer and middle fingers, shaking it in a way that kept the barrel of the pen hitting against the joint in his thumb with an erratic clack-clack-clack-clack. In any other case, Claudia would be worried about his pens getting confiscated if he used them so openly, but Adrien had a habit of using them too quickly for it to even matter. 

("κᾰρπός Πασιθές" was one of the first spells he'd crafted, finding that Ancient Greek was better for softer, longer-lasting charms. Still, not a day went by without him pointing his wand at his wrists and whispering that phrase to stave off the inevitable carpal tunnel he'd spend the rest of his life fighting.) 

"I mean, I have class in a few minutes, so yes," she lied. –It was true that she had class, but Madam Capitval had a grudge against Claudia for her tendency to set things on fire, so she had no intention of going. "...What the hell do you have on your face?" 

Adrien smudged one of the shaky lines of ink on his cheek with his thumb, and the sight of the ink on his hand turned his face that usual bright shade of red. He shuffled all of his scrolls of parchment into one arm and began to viciously rub off the marks, turning away before Claudia could possibly decode what he had fallen asleep on—A love letter. It would be sent to her soon enough anyway. He couldn't bear to not send them himself, just because half of the joy was watching her read it. 

"I-it's nothing! Just, uh— More of those– M-more notes on Casting Language Reforms, nothing you'd want to- you'd be interested in." 

Claudia didn't believe him for a second, but she also didn't entirely care. She continued to walk in the opposite direction of her next class, and even still Adrien continued to follow her. 

"What spell do you need help with this time?" she finally asked, letting a smirk peek through. Adrien took a rather deep breath as he finally let himself speak about it to someone. 

"I looked over that textbook you disguised as an Herbology tome. I think, with the proper tests, I can create a spell that alters the—what was it called—'fructose' and 'glucose' levels in fruits and vegetables.”

"Couldn't you just make up a spell that makes things sweeter?" 

"That's the thing- It's too broad!" Adrien grabbed Claudia by the shoulders, a rather wild look in his eyes as he continued to ramble. "The beauty of this experimental magic is that I can change just the tiniest component rather than the whole. Imagine the kind of possibilities that opens up. For years—for centuries we've merely taught magic, but never before have we deconstructed it this thoroughly!" 

Claudia was glad she didn't have to worry about sharing any Magical Theory classes with Adrien. 

“—Besides," he added, "I was hoping that I'd be able to use the experience to do things like make potions easier to digest. Stuff you can't normally sweeten." 

...It was getting close to the full moon anyways, now that he'd made her think about potions. Claudia had been hoping to try and brew some Wolfsbane herself, if she could actually focus long enough to figure out what she needed to do to make it. Potions were the hardest thing to wrap her head around, even more so than the boring lectures and bullshit systems. It didn’t help that she wasn’t exactly the most well-liked Slytherin. 

Claudia sighed, finally stopping in her place. 

“Okay, I’ll do it. But you have to help me get mandrake leaves for my next potions project.” 

Adrien had more than enough—He’d been trying to automate brewing Wolfsbane for weeks—but he bit his lip before he would admit that out loud. It wasn’t him who was going to supply the potions, after all: It was Chat Noir. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Claudia let the side of her head dig further into the forest floor. She’d gotten far enough away to not worry about anyone seeing her, and likely not worry about hurting anyone else either. Not like felt she would want to even if she could—any bloodlust would have to fight against the pain she was already in. It hurt to move, it hurt to think, it hurt to breathe. Her clawed, furred hands clutched her twisting stomach as she stared out into the gaps between the trees.

There were times where she wondered if the Wolfsbane worked at all. Maybe it was supposed to make it totally painless instead of just a little. Maybe it was supposed to give you enough energy to help you get away from people right before the transformation happened, instead of having to sneak out hours before and just wait in the woods until you felt the tingling of fur growing on your back and whiskers sprouting on your face. Hell, as far as she knew, maybe Wolfsbane was meant to stop the transformation entirely. Nobody had ever told her.

The loneliness was the worst part. Claudia had nothing to really do but talk to herself, imagine what the rest of her life would be like if she had to skip town every full moon. She didn’t know any other werewolves, and she’d been sent off to school because her parents didn’t know how to handle it. The hope had been that she’d at least be able to tell somebody, but… nobody wanted to talk to her as it was anyways. Maybe even less so if they found out.

A small noise echoed out in the silence of the dark. Claudia lifted her head to take a better look. The noise happened again.

A thin black cat broke a branch as it made its way towards her.

It was ridiculous to think that Chat Noir had somehow been looking for her. Maybe the cat had just found her by accident or something of the sort. Still, Chat Noir trotted up to her with wide green eyes, somehow able to perfectly recognize her despite her monstrous form.

Chat Noir bonked his forehead against Claudia’s snout. She wished she could talk or pet him, but the fatigue was too strong. Still, Chat Noir didn’t seem to mind, and just curled up beside her like they were back in her room on her bed again.

It would make for a very embarrassing story down the line, Adrien thought to himself, but he supposed it was worth the trouble.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[sumeriandeathsquad]

#when your guy has been nothing but a constant loser and a punching bag you kinda get used to it lmao via @the-kipsabian

i do hope kip gets something more substantial going on in his life soon though i am just really glad we get to see him quite regularly on tv.

that said, i think when you have a guy who loses all the time it gives you greater intestinal fortitude for wrestling overall. the people i see most complaining about their guy losing are actually the people who are so used to their guy winning that they can't fathom why they might eat a pin every now and then.

they seem to start feeling like he should win all the time. and i get it! i've been there. i've been boozled into thinking my guy should always win before. but what happens there is we forget that it's not actually about the wins and losses, it's about the story. this is why i don't personally love squash matches because they're actually very poor for character development and are just about racking up wins without much in the way of displaying real ability.

i will take a guy who loses in a great narrative (swerve becoming the villain shadowy over bryan's career, buddy going toe to toe with will ospreay and finding new/different respect through that, hangman being so far gone that every time he reaches for the world title belt it's yanked away before he can touch it) over a guy who wins and wins and wins and wins and wins and wins and wins any day.

(i'm not targeting this at you, btw, your tags just got me thinking and yapping in the general context of this whole post. kip should win like 1 time at least.)

if you aren’t prepared for your guy to lose you probably need a different hobby than wrestling, where notably people will either win or lose a match

[stump-salsa]

This one image of papyrus is really interesting to Me.

[skyshipper]

HAPPY STAR WARS DAY! MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU

[impossible-rat-babies]

vierapril day 26--weapon

"and failing that, i'll have my trusty warrior of light box the ears of all concerned."