#and even then it still ruined my ability to trust fully

[puppytummy]

that thing tht happened early this year rly ruined and destroyed me i dont know if ill ever be the same or stop being the scared it made me or be able to trust as i did without losing it sometimes or be able to make friends ever again but.. can i at least be able to live and try pls.. can it at least be bearable

can i stop being so scared please

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Four

For @erisweekofficial Day 4: Traditions

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: The Autumn Equinox Ball is a tradition of royalty, an event to symbolize the growth, prosperity, and power of the court. This year, Eris has set his sights on having you at his side.

Warnings: yearning tbh

Word Count: 3.5k

Part Three | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

"No."

Eris grimaced at the door shut in his face, the sharp sound echoing through the quiet night. The heavy oak door, adorned with intricate carvings, gleamed under the porch faelights.

He took a deep breath, grip tightening on the box in his hands— it was large enough to require both of his palms and weighed heavy in his hold. Not because of its contents, no, but because of the importance it held to him now, in this moment.

He knew you were still there, lingering behind the door. He hadn't heard your footsteps to prove otherwise. 

And he knew you. You were curious, and despite how much you loathed him—something he assumed was quite a lot at this point—your curiosity would be biting at you, begging you to understand why he’d come.

After all these years, you'd want to know why he was here, at your door. 

"Y/n," Eris said tightly. “It’s considered bad taste to slam doors in the faces of court royalty.”

He heard a scoff from the other side of the door. The sound tugged at his lips, almost coaxing a smile. His words had hit their intended mark, indeed.  It was oddly comforting, in a way he couldn’t fully grasp, to know he still knew how to get under your skin.

The door clicked as a lock was undone, but it only opened a crack. Through the narrow gap, the warm light from inside casted a halo around your silhouette. An angry eye glared at him.

"Go away," you sneered. "It's in bad taste to harass females who don't wish to speak to you."

Eris didn't have a chance to open his mouth before the door was shut on him once more. He let out another deep, frustrated breath. 

"You're going to ruin your door, Vixen."

Silence.

He shifted his weight on his feet. He hadn’t seen you since before the second war on Hybern—since that night in his cabin following Feyre and Lucien’s trespassing. Maybe the time hadn’t been long enough. Perhaps it would take centuries to regain your trust, if he had ever held it in the first place. 

But Eris didn’t have that long. He needed to make this work now.

"Y/n," he tried again. "Please let me in."

More silence.

He was nearly ready to walk away, to accept this as one of his rare defeats, when he heard the click of the lock again. The door creaked open wider, revealing you standing just inside. Your anger was still evident, still rippling off you in waves, but there was something else in your gaze—curiosity.

And he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

He'd almost forgotten how beautiful you were. 

The years, which had been rough on him, seemed to have only made you more breathtaking. Perhaps it was the distance, or maybe it was what he’d seen in the war, but Eris had found a newfound appreciation for the beauty in life.

All of it paled in comparison to you.

It was a shame—a sin, even—to have you hidden away from the eyes of the central Autumn Court, from the vibrant life that might have appreciated your beauty. It felt wrong to deprive the world of such glory, of the ability to witness you. But then, he thought, he was grateful for it. There was no other scent in the house, no jewelry on your hands, no glow of a bond. It was just you, here, and he was thankful for that.

You stepped aside. "Well?" You said, tone clipped. "Come inside before I change my mind.”

Eris didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped over the threshold, his heart pounding as he crossed into the warmth and light of your home.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“No.”

Eris almost rolled his eyes, the word feeling like a brick wall he was constantly battling against. 

“Is that the only word in your vocabulary?”

Something flashed in your eyes.

"Maybe,” you said. “I guess I’m too ordinary to have the vocabulary of someone as well-regarded as a High Lord’s heir.”

Eris flinched— he didn't bother hiding it, though he knew he should've. Instead, he quickly collected himself, straightening his posture further, adopting a cold, unamused face.

You were always one to hold grudges, always one to remember the details. It was why you'd bonded with Lucien, someone equally as observant.

Lucien had gotten that habit from Eris, whether he'd realized it or not.

Ordinary. It was one of the last things he’d called you, a comment that had haunted him more persistently than other nightmares. The memory of his father’s cruel hand, the sight of wounded siblings—all of it seemed to merge with the sting of that word, with the memory of your palm against his cheek.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a moment to look around, absorbing the space around him. It was alive with the essence of you—every detail, every personal touch. He walked over to a table near the entrance and placed the box down, his fingers lingering on its edges for a moment. His gaze wandered to the art on the walls, running a finger along their frames. 

You cleared your throat from behind him. Eris turned, finding you standing with your arms crossed, jaw tight and rigid. You looked like someone who had allowed a wild animal to prowl around their home, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation.

For a moment, he was at a loss.

There was no sinister agenda here, no political gain, no deep analysis needed for his next move. But he still needed to tread carefully. He hated that he had to. There was too much to say and not enough at all. Small talk would be useless. You wouldn’t entertain it anyway. He was treading a thin line.

You nodded towards the box. “What is it?”

Eris, casually fixing his sleeves, replied, “A gift.”

“A gift?” you echoed, a bitter laugh escaping you. “I don’t want your gifts.”

He stared at you for a moment, taking in your features, your stance. 

“Come to the Autumn Equinox ball with me.”

You blinked. A smile broke across your face— it lacked any genuine warmth, any kindness. It was pure disbelief, pure anger even. Another bitter, humorless laugh escaped you as you ran your hands along your face. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Eris didn’t react, didn't so much as move a muscle. It only seemed to anger you further. 

“Where do you hold all of your audacity? Is there a specific pocket in those tailored jackets?”

In another situation, he might have laughed at the comment. It was funny, truly, it was. But this wasn’t that moment. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow, unphased. “The ball is—”

“I know when it is,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “I also know who it’s reserved for. And I’m not going.”

Your hands curled into fists and Eris’s eyes tracked the movement. His steady gaze returned to your face as he repeated, “Come to the ball, Y/n.”

Had your jaw been any tighter, you might have shattered your teeth from the sheer force of clenching them.

"Did you lose your hearing in this war?" You sneered. "I said no."

Usually, in any other circumstance, Eris would have respected your wishes, recognized the discomfort in your stance, and taken his leave. He would have understood, would have taken the clear signals that you wanted him gone. But tonight was different. He couldn’t afford to walk away, not when he needed you there, not when he needed a chance, a moment. His resolve hardened, his gaze unwavering as he faced you. He knew he had to press further, even if it meant pushing past your boundaries. With a determined breath, he pulled out the only card he had left:

 “Consider this calling in my favor.”

The world went quiet for a moment, absent of your breath as you processed his words. He watched as you blinked once, as your gaze took him in, then watched as you blinked again. A small crease appeared between your brows. 

"You're calling a centuries old bargain for some ball?"

Eris scanned your face, allowed his gaze to linger on your lips, to drift to your eyes. Then, he smiled. 

"Seems so."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The Autumn Equinox ball was a spectacle of opulence and splendor.

It stood as one of the premier events in the Autumn Court, the kind of affair that young females, newly recognized as adults, fantasized about attending alongside someone of high standing, someone deserving of an invitation. You had only heard whispers of it, never coming close enough to the court’s grand celebrations when Beron hosted such festivities.

Despite his appreciation for the grander, more beautiful things in life, Lucien never attended such events. You always thought it was a waste. Lucien was immaculate in his presentation, in the way he dressed and carried himself. You used to long to see him dressed for a ball, waiting for you, asking you to stand by his side.

But you weren’t a family of title. These events were reserved for royalty and high-ranking court members. Beron extended invitations to other courts as well, but it was never out of friendliness. It was a display of power, a way to showcase the flourishing of his court.

But now you were here, surrounded by the Autumn Court's elite.

And you'd never felt so out of place. 

The grand ballroom shimmered as you entered, the soft glow of faelight casting a warm light over the crowd, the chatter of conversation blending with the gentle strains of a string quartet.

You looked around, hands clenched at your sides, gripping the fabric of your gown as if it were an anchor. You avoided the eyes of those around you, afraid that their looks would make you feel smaller than you already did, that you'd hold their gaze wrong, prove to them that you didn't belong. 

Within seconds of scanning the sea of elegantly dressed guests, you found Eris’s amber eyes. 

The rest of the world seemed to blur as that fire met yours. 

He made his way toward you, cutting through the crowd with the same grace and authority he commanded in all things, regal like a blade through silk. His attire was impeccable:  a deep, rich burgundy jacket adorned with intricate golden embroidery that caught the light with every movement, fitted trousers, and polished shoes that gleamed like liquid shadow. His outfit was completed with a pair of exquisite gold cufflinks and a matching set of earrings, each studded with garnets that mirrored the fiery tones of the autumn leaves.

Eris paused, running an attentive eye down your figure. A small beat of silence passed, as if he was deciding how to approach the night, contemplating what to say. 

“Dance with me,” he finally said, extending a hand toward you.

You hesitated, glancing down at the gown that hugged your form. “I—I don’t know how.”

Your answer didn't seem to phase him.

“Dance with me,” he repeated, his voice carrying a note of insistence. “I will show you how.”

You hesitated. It would be so easy to refuse, to walk away and leave this entire farce behind. But something in his tone, something in the atmosphere of the ball, made it clear that this was not just another game.

Fighting it was no use. This could be your last night around the eldest Vanserra. If you truly wished to never see him again, he would probably respect that. He had always been a male of his word when he wanted to be.

But as you looked around the beautiful ballroom, draped in the soft glow of countless lights, you felt the weight of the opportunity slipping through your fingers. You would never be in such a lavish dress again, never witness such finery. Take advantage of it, your mind whispered, pretend for a night that you are more than ordinary.

With a resigned sigh, you placed your hand in his, allowing him to lead you to the center of the ballroom. His touch was more gentle than you would have thought, though the palms of his hands are calloused. You felt an urge to compare him to something divine, to admire how he was finely polished like a beautiful, stone statue. Something of greatness, something worthy of being praised.

You did your best to keep your breathing steady as his hand wrapped around your waist, tried not to fully inhale his scent as his head dipped down when he spoke.

“Is the dress to your liking?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, struggling to keep your expression neutral. To say it was to your liking was an understatement.

The box Eris had left was unassuming, its exterior plain and nondescript. But when you opened it, you were greeted by the most breathtaking gown you’d ever seen. It was a rich, burnished amber, catching the light with every movement. The fabric shimmered like fallen leaves in the dusk, and the intricate embroidery, reminiscent of autumn’s delicate patterns, wove around the bodice and down the skirt. It was as if the essence of the season itself had been captured and spun into the fabric.

It felt entirely too beautiful to be worn by the likes of you.

You glanced at Eris. Up close, you could see every freckle that decorated his nose and cheeks, could count them if you truly wanted to, each dot pronounced against the pale skin. 

“Yes,” you replied curtly, struggling to keep your voice steady. You turned your gaze away quickly, not wanting to stare at him longer. "What poor seamstress did you have to threaten to have it made on such short notice?”

 "None," he replied. "Do you truly think so low of me?"

"Yes."

Against your better judgment, you found yourself glancing back at him anyways, your eyes meeting his as he studied you. Eris’s gaze flickered, his expression briefly faltering before that well-practiced charm returned. He laughed, and the sound carried a note of sincerity, a rough edge that hinted it hadn’t been used recently.

“Well, no matter. You look beautiful in it.” His hand moved against the small of your back. "You look beautiful."

Your stomach flipped, a feeling so embarrassingly strong that your cheeks began to burn. You were supposed to be angry at him— you were angry at him.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” you retorted, though a small smile tugged at your lips. The gentle movement of the dance seemed to ease some of your tension, some of that anger that had settled in your bones. Either that, or the warmth that radiated from Eris's hand. You'd never been this close to him, never felt his skin against yours. It resonated somewhere deep inside you, brought warmth to places you weren't aware were cold.

“Distance isn’t what I seek tonight,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur.

For a moment, you faltered. He noticed, of course—he always noticed. His hand tightened on your waist, guiding you back into the rhythm. His eyes were trained on you, but there was something different in them tonight. A weight. A silence behind the usual arrogance.

“What are you seeking?” 

His lips quirked into a smile, not the biting, sarcastic one you were used to, but something softer. “Time to think.”

You frowned, a crease deepening between your brows. “At a ball?”

“Yes.”

"Liar," you muttered, but there was no venom in your voice.

Eris hummed softly, a thoughtful sound, but offered no immediate response. Instead, he guided you through a graceful turn, the fabric of your dress swirling around you.

There it was again—that strange softness. He wasn’t needling you like usual, wasn’t pushing for a reaction. It made your stomach tighten with suspicion. His grip on your waist felt protective now, and as you stared at him, you realized that the usual front he presented—the one of the cruel prince, the sharp-tongued heir—was slipping.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight," you murmured, "Did you finally run out of clever quips, or are you saving them for another unfortunate soul?”

You wanted to provoke the usual sharp retort from him, something to break the coil in your stomach, to bring a sense of cold familiarity. You wanted the mask back, wanted the bitter, sharp Eris. The one you knew, the one you could hate. But he didn’t bite. Instead, he glanced around the room, taking in the grand ballroom and its glittering guests. 

You followed his gaze, watched as it settled, momentarily, on a corner far across the room. On the Night Court's contingent. They were one of the few courts in attendance tonight. Rhysand stood in all his glory, a beacon of effortless power, and beside him, two females. One was shorter but radiated undeniable authority, and the other— the other you recognized instantly. The High Lady. Feyre Archeron. 

Cursebreaker. 

Their eyes seemed to lock onto you, and a shiver ran down your spine. You couldn’t breathe for a moment, an unsettling sensation settling over you. Instinctively, you turned to Eris, but he had yet to look back.

When his gaze did return to you, there was something unreadable in it, something that made the hair on the back of your neck rise. “Do you believe in second chances?” 

"What?" You blinked, instinctively pulling back, but Eris’s hands caught you, pulling you back in with a natural, effortless motion. 

“Second chances,” he repeated, his tone as calm as ever. "Do you believe in them?"

He spun you again gently. For a moment, you felt a flash of disorientation as you twirled, your feet struggling to keep up with the rhythm of the dance. Thoughts were pounding against your head, all equally heavy, equally damning. Your chest felt tight with an emotion you couldn't quite describe— not now, not here.

"I'm not sure."

Eris didn’t offer another word. Instead, he studied your face, his gaze tracing over your features like he was memorizing you.

“Our ancestors,” he began, “Used to believe this time of year marked change. The Autumn Equinox. A point when things are supposed to shift, make way for something new.”

You raised a brow at him. “Is that what this ball represents? Growth?”

Eris’s lips curled into the faintest smile. “In theory,” he said, "Our Court is one of endless change, after all. Decay and rebirth.”

You eyed him closely. There was something about the way he spoke tonight, something too pensive, too reflective. He was rarely like this—rarely this vulnerable, even in his cryptic way.

"Why did you ask me here?”

You fought to keep your voice steady, to keep it level despite the way his touch made your skin tingle. 

He continued to guide you in a slow, measured dance. You hadn't even thought about your skills, hadn't been granted a moment to overthink your movements. The ballroom around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you in a world of elegant isolation. With a practiced twirl, he spun you, and you found yourself dipping into a graceful arch.

“I owe you an apology, Vixen,” he said softly. He brought you back into his arms. Your head swirled with the motion, with his face so close to yours. Your bodies were touching now, nearer than you had been when the dance begun. The proximity intensified the warmth of his touch, making it difficult to breathe. 

“Many, in fact," Eris amended. His hand tightened around yours, and you could feel the solid weight of his words as if they were pressing into your very bones. 

“I know you may hate me,” he continued, his voice low, almost a whisper, a confession of sorts. To you. To himself. “But I do care for you. There is something about you. It unnerves me and entices me all the same.”

You were at a loss for words, completely unaware of the song’s ending or the shifting crowd around you. As you came to a halt, Eris’s eyes widened slightly, as if he were nervous. 

“I don’t hate you,” you said, the words slipping out before you could fully grasp their weight. His eyes now glowed with something else, flickered with something that felt like hope. You swallowed, forcing yourself to continue, “I wish I did. It would be easier. It would make more sense. But I don’t hate you.”

Eris looked down, a sense of vulnerability, of thoughtfulness, passed through his face. It was almost bashful, and the sight of it was so foreign, so out of character, that it made your chest tighten.  He lifted his gaze to meet yours, and as he released your hand, he took a step back and bowed. “Then I ask for you to hold onto that.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “Why?" You took a step forward towards him, now eager to close the gap, to have his warmth near you again. "What are you up to?”

But Eris simply looked at you, tilting his head with a fleeting smile that vanished almost instantly as he straightened up.

“Enjoy the rest of the ball, Y/n. But make sure to leave before the feast. You won’t enjoy it.”

He adjusted his clothes with a delicate hand, his face hardening into a mask of cold indifference. With a final glance, he turned and walked toward the far corner of the room, to where the Night Court’s presence lingered like an encroaching dusk. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: idk guys something about having someone who just sees straight through eris and despite knowing they have every reason to hate him, they still try to dig deeper and dont accept him at surface level... it gets me.

almost as if...she just has some innate sense... some connection...that pushes her to him...over and over.....hmm. strange.

thanks for reading <3

eris week/of our own devices tag list 🫶🏻: @i-know-i-can @scarsandallaz @anainkandpaper @ratgirl2020 @nyenye

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ruin requests??? Anything w/ ruined Roxy x reader please I need to clean her up and make her feel better my wife is so sad :(((

NAH FR I'm devastated for her </33

[RUIN SPOILERS AHEAD]

.......

You don't know how you did it.

You don't know how you managed to reach Cassie and Roxanne deep within the bowels of the Mega Pizzaplex and destroy...whatever mechanical abomination was lying there.

But none of that mattered right now, as there's only one important thing sitting in front of you at this very moment:

The heavily damaged wolf animatronic, currently in a deactivated state as she was recharging power.

You did your best to clean off whatever grease, charcoal, or dirt you can find on the remnants of her suit. However given her lack of any exterior shelling, you focused mainly on her endoskeleton.

A dozen rags and special cleaners later...she was already looking better than before.

You took extra care when cleaning her hair--the part of herself she valued the most aside from her eyes. The last thing you wanted was for her to go into a frenzy in your own garage.

At first you were afraid for Cassie's safety, thinking Roxy was going to attack her like Monty, Chica, and some older Freddy model. But instead the young girl actually led you to her, begging you to save her as she was too scared to lose her "only friend".

That was surprising to hear, though you trusted her and took them both hope, escaping through a tunnel leading to the outside world.

You drove Cassie to the hospital, where she would be staying for a few nights, while you went back home to repair Roxy to the best of your abilities.

Being a former technician had its perks, but even so...you couldn't 100% restore her to her original state. You had no idea how she was even capable of functioning at all, even apparently fighting an animatronic that mimicked Cassie's friend.

Still, you had to try.

For both of their sakes.

Once Roxy was charged fully, you smiled and got up, going to your monitor to complete the process and reactivate her.

--WARNING: ANIMATRONIC SAFETY PROTCOLS REMAIN CRITICALLY DAMAGED. CONTINUE? [Yes/No]--

You huffed in annoyance, going ahead and selecting "yes". There was nothing you could do about those right now. But you hoped she would recognize you before she made any sudden movements.

As soon as you made your choice, the wolf jerked to life, already fighting against the restraints of her chair as she growled and shouted.

"Where am I?! Cassie?! CASSIE?!!" She cried out desperately. "Let me go-!!"

"Roxy! It's me." You spoke up, trying to calm her down as you cautiously approached. "Do you remember me?"

Closing her endo jaws, she fell silent for a moment, trying to recognize your voice. "[Y/n]? My...personal repair technician..? Where are we? Is Cassie okay?"

"You're at my house, far away from the Pizzaplex. Cassie's staying at the hospital for a few nights. She's safe." Relieved, you smiled when her gaze met yours, and you could see her relax in the chair. "I can't believe it...you were down there all this time. I thought you guys were goners. What happened..?"

"It's..all a blur." She muttered, tensing as she felt a cable being removed from the back of her head. "What are you..??"

"It's okay. I had to recharge you and run some diagnostics, so I'm taking the cables out. Keep talking to me, Roxy."

"Did Cassie book her party?"

"...come again?"

"Her birthday.." She looked up at you, ears twitching and rotating. "She didn't have the best time, I tried cheering her up...did you know she's my number one fan?"

"Yes." You nodded as you detached the final cable. Then you helped her stand up and regain her footing. "You've only told me about her a dozen times while I was repairing you."

"I did...? Huh...can we go back to the Pizzaplex when she recovers? We'll throw her the best birthday party ever!" Her tone sounded so hopeful, yet your silence made her frown. "[Y/n]?"

"I'm sorry, Roxy. But the whole mall's condemned. It's not safe anymore" You regrettably reminded her. "I don't know what the hell happened there in the time I was gone, but...it's in ruins. Even if it was somehow magically restored..I don't think Cassie would want to go back there."

Of course, you knew that's not what she wanted to hear, but it was the reality. And you could see her growing more and more distraught.

"..right, I..remember now..but that's it? No more parties or...o-or races to win..? No more sharing carrot cake? No one to tell me I'm beautiful..?" Her voice wavered, but you couldn't tell if it was due to the glitches or genuine emotion.

The robotic sniffle you heard confirmed the latter, and you stepped forward to take her hands into yours. "You're still beautiful, and..I promise when she gets out, we'll go buy all the carrot cake she wants. We'll throw her a party here. One she deserves." You could feel tears pricking your eyes, despite your attempts to smile.

Although you wish it didn't take a tragedy of this scale to change Roxy's personality, you were glad to see this softer side coming out. Her sassiness to other kids and staff members was always there--even towards you--but Cassie is the only one she ever looked out for.

Maybe..they had more in common than they realized.

'She's the reason Roxy didn't go rogue like all the others...she's been fighting tooth and nail to protect this girl..'

"Y-You mean that?"

"Every word." Nodding, you embraced her as she began to cry, oil leaking from her sockets. Her arms eventually found their way around you, and while constricting...you didn't dare to let her go.

Not anytime soon.

Now it's gonna be your turn to protect her.

[sporelings-au]

How did mother spore meet her lovely hubby?

@whatmoredoyouwangfromme

again, my eng aint that great so if there's any confusion, ask me and i'll clear it up as best as i can ^^;

---

so doc's a creeper and goat hybrid that is being kept alive by machinery. (why? idk yet lol. maybe bc he fought god or he exploded before idk)

He left his hometown in search of some place else to live in (why? again, the author is just incompetent at making up stories ><)

He set sail in a boat and ended up crashing into mother spore's island. Mother immediately sensed him and thought it was a HEP agent. He went to check out what happened only to find doc lamenting about his ruined ship. And mother is immediately intrigued.

he's never seen someone like doc before. A creeper and goat hybrid? the very idea is laughable to mother. But here doc stands, trying to salvage what was left of his ship.

Mother is even more intrigued of doc when it seems that her mycelium and fungus doesn't affect doc at all.

like i said, doc's half cyborg, so whatever machinery that's keeping him alive also disintegrates any bacteria- or in this case, mycelium spores from entering his system. Making him fully immune to mother spore's influence.

So, mother spore decided to play around with doc to test his abilities. She would make the mushrooms on her island shift and move around, confusing doc about his whereabouts (and also making sure doc doesn't get close to the mansion).

Then, she would send out her sporelings to play tricks with doc by placing traps. (the sporelings and mother would remain unseen by doc throughout all this)

but doc's a smart guy. Doc would stop trusting his surroundings and instead count his steps to determine where he is and make sure he doesnt get lost. He's also getting better at recognizing if there's a trap laid out for him and disarming them.

Mother would then get more and more frustrated by doc outsmarting him but at the same time very impressed by doc actually surviving and adapting on his island.

the sporelings would then get careless with making sure doc doesn't see them and one day, doc caught ren.

Doc saw ren wagging his tail while laying down traps and he picked ren up like a kitten, surprising both ren and mother. Mother was about to charge in and kill doc but stop bc doc just placed ren back down, letting him run away.

now, mother spore is even more curious about doc.

slowly, doc uncovered all the sporelings one by one.

and with every sporeling he caught, the closer to the mansion mother would allow him to get.

then one day, doc got to the mansion and mother spore is in front of it, waiting to give doc a final test.

Mother spore invites doc into the mansion for tea but doc politely declines, knowing the moment he set foot into the mansion, he would instantly become a dead man.

And mother spore was like "smart and polite. I like you." and let him leave the island scot-free.

But doc doesn't leave. Well, he would occasionally, to get supplies but he would always return to the island.

The sporelings would then get comfortable around doc and started to actually really like him and accept him as a part of their mushroom family.

mother and doc would also bond with each other and get really close. But each time mother invites him in for tea, doc would still decline.

until one day, when mother invites doc in for tea again, doc actually accepted.

Doc can't get infected by the mycelium, but mother made sure the food and drinks he gave doc that day weren't laced with mycelium anyways.

[veronimouse]

✨my experience with loa (law of assumption)✨

long narrations ahead

when i was younger, i think i was about 5 years old, i used to tell kids my age and everyone i meet one thing about me when asked to introduce myself. i was like “my name’s maddy!! and im a very lucky girl 😄”

they would be like “aww, god must love you so much” and i always say “no, the moon goddess does” (i’ve always been fascinated with stars and moon, or should i say astrology way before i even knew about it. and u cannot tell me that the moon goddess doesn’t really adores me !!)

some just shrug it off and just smiles at me, but some elders would scold me because that’s disrespectful to “god”.

so back to the real deal, since i used to say and believe that im lucky and everything goes my way, everything actually does.

and when i say im lucky, i really am.

i used to join pageants when i was a kid, and everytime, i always won. either it’s minor awards or major ones.

whenever i want to buy something, and i dont have any more money, i would always believe that i will find cash at home or even outside whatever happens, and i actually find some.

one time i had a fever the night before the school trip, and my mom told me to not go because i wasn’t feeling well. i went to sleep fully expecting to be perfectly fine the next morning, and yeah, i indeed woke up perfectly fine and was able to join the trip.

during Christmas, i always always always get the best gifts at school (we used to do random exchange gifts at school). and im also always unexpectedly winning games, even the ones im not good with.

oh, and don’t forget when there are tests and i didn’t study, more specifically in math because im literally just not that good in it, guess what? i still manage to get passing scores. and when i say i don’t study, i really don’t and just use my “gut feeling” when choosing the answers lmao.

those are just some of my experiences as a certified lucky girl.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ˚ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ˚ *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

4 years ago, it was the start of pandemic, i got into shifting, manifestation, astrology, and some other stuff. that’s when i found out about loa.

i was like “isn’t this too easy?” because i’ve been doing it my whole life.

i realized that i’ve been doing loa before i even knew about it (2)

you know what’s crazy? whenever i talk about stuff like this to my friends, they look at me like im having psychosis.

it doesn’t really bother me that much. im just like, okay whatever, you do you.

i actually feel a very strong and deep connection between me and the moon goddess ever since i was a kid, and i feel it deep in my soul.

i even talk to them at night whenever i have the time. it’s like you know even if u can’t physically hear or reach them, you know deep inside that they’re listening and are there for you.

this might be the reason why i don’t have much friends my age in real life, but oh well. i really don’t stress over it that much.

and i know that some of u are atleast gonna say “are you sure you’re lucky? or you’re just really smart and good at everything” type of shit.

and to answer that, yes, i do believe that it’s also because of my hardwork and abilities. but it’s also because of the fact that I ALWAYS BELIEVE IN MYSELF. yes, there also times where im having doubts, but my subconscious knows well that those doubts aren’t enough to ruin my self confidence and the trust i built with myself long ago.

i’m not really that pro when it comes to explaining things, so i hope u got what i wanted to say. happy shifting, my love 🤍

[yyawnjun]

LOVE GUIDE (SAY YES) chap12

yunjin and chaewon were waiting for you to speak, as you sat outside the bathroom door in complete silence. you could even hear your breathing and your heart beating so fast?

on that night, you finally admitted to yourself, and to your best friends that kwon soonyoung was more than just a project partner…

indeed, during the time you spent with him, you noticed that your heart might have skipped a few beats (let's not forget that he fainted after receiving your gifts) and that every time you told him something, he made an extreme effort not to stare mesmerized at your moving lips.

also you could always feel your real happiness when you texted each other at night, and when you couldn't stop laughing together.

your conversations were at ease, and in that short time, you discovered numerous similarities between you two - you understood that he had no idea what "baroque" was; you were similar in many ways, not all.

again, it was during that night that you admitted to your friends that you had let him pretend to be an expert in that art movement just so that you could observe him trying to pronounce the correct name, and show his "deep knowledge" in the days to follow.

you also planned to show your gratitude to him in an indirect way. you were ready to suggest that he also use the concept of animals, keeping in a sketch the tiger's striatum as the main theme (when you had first met, the third thing after his name and a failed pick-up line had been that he loved tigers).

his ability to make you smile and blush had touched your heart, which you had worked so hard to keep safe for fear of the awful consequences. you were afraid that opening yourself to love would end up in a lonely frigid cold; nevertheless, he was able to make you feel a comfortable warmth that seemed endless.

"is this "falling in love"? am I now ready and willing to change myself to be loved? to let the old me die to be reborn and achieve the completeness given by love? should I then take this step, trusting the only way to fully live is to love?"

you had spoken those words all in one breath. so fast that your friends were still looking confused in the first few minutes, they were still trying to understand exactly what you had said.

"All right! I'm thankful you said it out loud girl… you seem to be questioning your existence. However, I can tell you based on my little experience that yes, this is this love," yunjin said.

"that's where you overthink must come from." chaewon added.

they both appeared calm, and such a reassuring smile - you could sense the unconditional love in their gaze.

"anyway…it is not that serious, right?" you uttered, a little afraid of ruining the moment.

you three started laughing and nodding, and rather, the tension in the room dissipated. your anxiety at openly declaring that you liked Hoshi faded, and instead, it was finally starting to give you that satisfying rush of nervousness. the faint thrill you get in the early stages of a crush, when your hopes are as high as the mountains and the sun, a metaphor for love, gets to embrace you close.

"I like him. I like Hoshi."

you instantly chuckled as the girls drew near to you, and hugged you while wearing mock-surprised expressions; many of your worries from the previous few weeks also suddenly disappeared.

it was already late at night, and you were too tired to even consider the possible consequences of a relationship between you and your crush. before the final project, you would have spent many days together, so there was plenty of time for everything to work out, right?

chap11 // chap13 ; m.list

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　 　 　。

summary: It is clear to everyone that Kwon Soon-young has a huge crush on the model student Yn. But can Hoshi, a passionate and funny stylist make her fall in love in just a month? What if he followed a weird LOVE GUIDE, that he found in the school bathroom?

。　　　　✧　　　　⁺　 　 　。

a.n. HII after a rlly long break i am back!! hope y'all missed a bit this funny smau, and i hope you will like this chapter. we are slowly reaching the end, but i promise there's still a funny plot twist who's waiting for our protagonists,, (text + 0.6k wc)

taglist(33/50): @alsktudy @kissesfrmwonwoo @marsstarxhwa @haohyo @wonwooz1 @wonwoos-wineparty @mhlsymlysn @nishloves @punkhazardlaw @manooffline @kflixnet @minhui896 @azkahanif @woozixo

@chimmy-bts @luvhuihui @wonraiwoo @keeboismine @teenyfinds @ninetiesbitches @astro-doll-the-star @bangantokchy @meowwyoong @dahbee8 @ivehypnosis @chweverni @miriamxsworld @cottoncheol @caratboy

@gigiiiiislife @isabellah29 @forrhoshi

send an ask or comment under THIS post to be part of it !!

[aemondsbeloved]

An Unworthy Hand

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x blind!reader

summary: Aegon wishes to read to you but cannot make up his mind. The histories of his ancestors is too vain and poetry is not right, either. Unfortunately, he has to enlist his younger brother for help (1.9k)

In the library was Aemond sitting in a chair near a window that overlooked the training yard. In vain Aegon had hoped his brother would not have been here.

Aegon thinks that out of everything in his life that this might be the most fearsome task.

Aegon walks as silently as he can into the library and thinks about how to best evade Aemond, who was shockingly aware of his surroundings for someone with one eye. While he found himself admiring his betrothed for her heightened senses in absence of sight, Aemond’s ability to sense Aegon before he was there irritated him.

“Not like you to wander in the library, brother,” Aemond comments softly. There is only a Maester pouring over some texts for company, though he was on the other side of the sprawling library. “Here to pour over some texts of our ancestors?”

Aemond might not have looked up from his book but Aegon knew contempt when it was spoken. Usually Aegon had something nasty to say to his brother and then Aemond would be able to voice his distaste for Aegon. It had been a lifelong tradition for as long as Aegon did not care for duty and Aemond lived for it.

This time Aegon said nothing of the kind and turned his head to look at the shelves of books. Aemond was right enough, it was unlike him to wander in the library. He would be seeing you in the gardens tomorrow and thought he might read to you.

Not that he wanted to tell his brother any of this. Aemond’s watchful eye had rested on Aegon since you had come to King’s Landing, waiting for Aegon to ruin things as he always did. Aegon thought everyone was expecting the other shoe to drop, except you.

You seemed to always take him at his word, trusting him wholly. Maybe that is why he was in the library searching for a book you might like to hear, and why he was not being crass to Aemond.

Reading you a history text, especially one on his ancestors sounded vain, Aegon thought, but reading poetry felt cheap. He could not read you poetry that does not remind him of you and he cannot read you histories like a Septa.

“I came to choose a book I would read to my lady tomorrow,” he absentmindedly says in a clumsy, hurried tone, forgetting it is Aemond who he speaks to for a moment. He does not even realize that he has called you his lady, which feels too intimate to say aloud even if you will be married. “Reading her history or poetry is not right.”

Aegon is anxious, skittish even. It is a behavior that the lack of wine for weeks has not subdued. Your presence had begun to soothe him but the threat of making a misstep or choosing wrong makes him feel weaker than he should. His downfall is that he cannot say something untoward to Aemond, at least not when Aemond was the one who he needed assistance from. For as much as Aegon found annoyance in his younger brother, you had occasionally taken joy in Aemond’s presence. Your fondness of his siblings made no sense to Aegon but had regrettably been unable to loathe Aemond’s presence nor could he think everything about his sister an annoyance these days.

Aemond closed his book and is silent as he looks over Aegon with a cursory look. “There are stories of the fictional sort with characters as interesting as the kind in the historic texts of our ancestors but completely made up. Yet they are not as trite as the characters in the romantic tales most ladies of the court seem to care for.”

His brother seems uninterested, almost like this was too unimportant for him to fully commit to but still, Aemond jerks his head to the corner of the library near the doors where such tales must be.

Aegon turns his body to look at that part of the library and finds himself drawn to it in hopes there could be a book that could please you. At the same time Aemond is up and out of his chair, moving out of the room with an unaffected air as he holds a book under his arm. Aegon might have thanked his brother, a thought he had never had before, if Aemond had not left so quickly.

Instead he finds himself in the corner of the library. His index finger traces the leathered covered books. For some time he was reading through some until a tale with dragons and adventures to a world through an unknown land piqued his interest. He left silently, the book tucked under his arm and he meandered through the corridors.

He had discovered in the weeks since you’ve found a place in the Red Keep with his family that his own family has treated him strangely. Where Aemond once told him he was due to disappoint his betrothed now he silently watched him, his brother’s lone lilac eye becoming less focused on him by the day. His mother did not seem what to do with him and sometimes he wants to ask her if she wanted him to be a drunkard again.

But he does not think on it too long, not when wherever he traveled in the castle walls he knew he would be welcomed by you once he saw you again. Selfishly, he was not aware of the other people in the castle and was uncaring of the whispers about him.

When he knocks on your door and your handmiaden opens, he briefly notices her smile. It is not one of surprise or nerves like the first one she had given him. “Princess Helaena is still with the Lady, my Prince,” she tells him as she opens the door, beckoning him in.

Her words were true. There on your sofa that was near the window, Helaena sat close to you and to Aegon’s surprise, her head was tipped down as she read from a book. He did not have an original idea in him it appeared.

“Brother,” Helaena greets as she looks up from the leather bound thick book and her smile is light and pleasant, but does not seem forced. Out of all his siblings, Helaena had never begrudged Aegon for his ways despite the words that tended to fall from his tongue when he was in his cups. He thinks that maybe she is pleased to see him but he knows you are by the way you smile.

“I asked your sister to read to me about your ancestors. She has a most lovely voice and I did not think it courteous to ask a maester to read to me of your family’s histories,” you explained softly. When you turned to give Helaena a gracious smile, thanking her quietly she beamed. “Would you read to me of Maegor next time?”

“With pleasure, sister,” she seems ecstatic to say the words and though you are not married yet, calling you her sister seems final. “I promised mother I would go to her rooms today. Until supper this eve, my lady.”

Helaena is barely out of the room before you are patting the seat next to you, beckoning him to sit by you. Aegon does not need telling twice and strides forward, sitting himself next to you. He leans in his chair like a cat as he sprawls himself out. Somehow he knows even if you could see him you would not begrudge him this. “You do not have to learn about my family’s ancestors, you know,” he tells you softly as he often does when speaking to you. “No one in the court will test your knowledge of the Conqueror.”

You hum and you turn your head in his direction. The sun from the afternoon hits your hair, allowing Aegon to see every strand of color there and finds himself admiring. “My father taught me of the histories of my people and I would like to do the same for my children one day. If I am to have child of Old Valyria then I want to be able to tell them of their father’s ancestors.”

You seem pleased with your words like the question of his children was not some duty but something to be excited for. Maybe he was imagining that too as he often imagined you feeling a yearning he had begun to stop pushing down. Silently, without asking, he reaches out across your lap into his and his fingers brush against yours. He might have pulled away but then your pinky fingers looped around his. The hands, not quite joined together layed halfways between your laps. He would take this affection and any other he might have from you so long as you were willing to give it.

“I would read to you the histories,” he says, forgetting how he hated learning of them in lessons as a child. But for you, he found himself ready to do just about anything. “If you should ever want me to,” he amended.

“Your sister says you used to sleep through lessons on occasion,” you say teasingly and what he imagines is fondness.

“All true,” he admits and reluctantly, he smiles. “Aemond used to say I was not worthy of the Conqueror's name seeing as I slept through learning of our forebearers so often.”

“He is quite harsh on you I think,” you say softly and Aegon’s head snaps up. He is not angry, no, not in the slightest, but if you were to ask any in his family how Aegon might have been treated — well, it would not be in his favor.

“He assisted me earlier before I came to see you,” Aegon begins and he ignores how he is perhaps trying to praise Aemond, defend him even. “I wanted to find a book to find you, but to read you poetry felt wrong. If I were to read to you poetry I would want it to be my own words. And I did not think it right to read you history of my ancestors, though now that I know you wish to learn I would read to you whenever you wished no matter the hour.”

You cannot see him and yet you possess an emotion on your face that speaks of fondness and perhaps even love. It is too soon for that, Aegon knows, because he has not earned your love. He wants to desperately, though.

Shifting your body, you lean your head on his shoulder and it is intimate, perhaps too intimate Aegon thinks to himself. But it seems that you have found a comfort in him and seek to curl yourself into him, proprietary damned. He thinks that your head fits perfectly against his shoulder.

“Read to me what you brought today,” your gentle voice brings him back to the land of the living. “Anything you read would do. The sound of your voice alone is most pleasing to me, my prince.”

Your words make Aegon nearly choke on air. The teasing cadence of his title, the reminder of how you both promised to call each other by your names alone; He could never stop calling you my lady though, the fondness growing inside him every hour and the fact that he wanted you to be his lady was too strong to ignore. You seemed to enjoy teasing him. He was ready to take your teasing every day, Aegon decided.

Without another word, Aegon opened the story and began to read. He was so engrossed in the feeling of you near him, your hands almost holding each other and your head on his shoulder that he could not pay attention to anything besides you and the words on the pages.

Neither of you noticed when your handmaiden peeped in hours later to see the scene for herself before carefully closing the door again.

[diealittlesometime]

Touch of Ruin

──── 003. The Catalyst

pairing ☆ natasha x reader, wanda x reader

chapter summary ☆ As you grow accustomed to the security and companionship Natasha provides, the arrival of Wanda introduces new complexities. Her enigmatic presence and intriguing powers draw your attention, stirring a mix of fascination and apprehension.

word count ☆ 1.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

Life at SHIELD had settled into a comfortable rhythm, marked by the security and companionship that Natasha provided. The days were long, filled with rigorous training sessions and debriefings, but the evenings were yours. They were spent either in the quiet of the library, poring over mission reports together, or in the more secluded corners of the SHIELD facility, where you two could share meals and stories away from prying eyes.

Your relationship with Natasha, though still unlabelled, had deepened into something both of you treasured. There was a mutual understanding that what you shared surpassed typical workplace camaraderie; it was intimate, built on a foundation of trust and mutual respect that few could claim to understand. The gentle touches, though always through the barrier of clothing or gloves, the shared glances across a crowded room, the soft laughter in the privacy of quiet corners—all these were manifestations of a bond that was uniquely yours.

One evening, after a particularly simulation exercise, you found yourselves in the small garden outside the base. The area was dimly lit, the stars overhead just bright enough to illuminate her features.

“You’re getting better at controlling your reactions under pressure,” Natasha commented, her voice soft, a slight smile playing on her lips as she watched a night-blooming flower gently sway in the breeze.

“It’s easier when I know you’re there,” you replied, allowing yourself a moment of honesty. “Knowing you have my back changes everything.”

Natasha looked at you, her eyes reflecting a warmth that made your heart flutter in response. “I’ll always have your back,” she affirmed, reaching out to squeeze your arm gently through the fabric of your jacket.

These moments, simple yet profound, had become the highlights of your days. They were reminders that amidst the chaos of life at SHIELD, you had found a sanctuary in each other.

However, the comforting routine you had both come to rely on was about to change. It happened after you returned from a solitary mission, one that had taken you away from the base for several weeks. You had been sent to intercept a potential threat in Eastern Europe, a mission that, while successful, left you feeling the acute absence of Natasha’s presence.

When you returned, you were greeted by the news of new additions to the Avengers' roster—Sam Wilson, Vision, and Wanda Maximoff. Natasha, who had just returned from a harrowing mission of her own in Sokovia, was part of the welcoming committee. You watched from a distance as she interacted with the newcomers, her demeanor professional but warm.

It was Wanda who caught your attention immediately. Natasha introduced her last, her tone taking on a softer edge. “And this is Wanda Maximoff. She’s had a rough time of it but she’s with us now. Her abilities are… unique, and quite potent.”

You observed Wanda, noting the hesitance in her posture, the way her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings with a wariness that you recognized all too well. It was the look of someone burdened by powers that they hadn’t fully come to terms with, powers that had perhaps caused more harm than good.

Later, Natasha shared more about Wanda’s background with you, her voice low as you both sat in the quiet of your shared quarters. “Her powers, they’re not unlike yours in a way. Destructive, hard to control. She’s struggling with them.”

Something in Wanda’s story resonated with you deeply. The sense of kinship with someone else who understood the weight of having dangerous abilities was deep. It stirred a mix of fascination and apprehension within you.

In the days that followed, you found yourself watching Wanda from afar during training sessions. You observed her attempts to control her powers, the frustration and occasionally the despair that crept into her expression when things didn’t go as planned.

It was during one of these sessions that your paths finally crossed directly. Wanda caught you staring, her gaze locking with yours across the room. There was a flash of something unspoken, a recognition perhaps, that passed between you. She nodded slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment before turning back to her training.

Not long after, Wanda approached Natasha. Though you couldn't hear their conversation, it was clear from their gestures that they were talking about you. Later, Natasha relayed the conversation. "Wanda’s curious about you," she said, her voice neutral. "She feels a connection, I think. She’s asked if you might be willing to help train her, to share your approach to managing your powers."

The request was reasonable, yet it stirred a mix of emotions in you. Helping Wanda could be an opportunity to connect with someone who might truly understand your challenges. However, it also brought a slight twinge of apprehension about how this might affect your relationship with Natasha.

As you mulled over this, Natasha seemed to sense your hesitation. "It’s just training," she reassured you, though her voice lacked its usual conviction. "But it’s your call."

Deciding to help Wanda wasn't just a practical decision about training a fellow team member; it felt like extending a hand to someone who was traversing a path you knew all too well. You nodded slowly, making up your mind. "I'll do it," you said, meeting Natasha’s gaze. "Everyone deserves a chance to understand their power, not fear it."

Natasha’s expression softened, a mixture of relief and something else—perhaps a hint of concern—flitting across her features. "Thank you," she murmured. She knew better than most how much this decision cost you, the memories it dredged up.

This new dynamic began to alter the comfortable routine you had established with Natasha. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to Wanda, compelled by the shared understanding of your respective curses. However, this growing connection did not go unnoticed by Natasha, who watched with a complex look in her eyes that you couldn’t quite read.

You still shared meals and mission briefings, but the unspoken tensions, the silent acknowledgments of the shifting sands between you, began to accumulate. Natasha seemed more withdrawn, her smiles a little too timed, her glances a little too guarded.

One late evening, after a particularly intense training session with Wanda, you found Natasha waiting for you outside the training room. Her posture was casual, but her eyes betrayed a hint of something unresolved.

"You're doing good work with Wanda," she started, her voice even. "She’s improving remarkably."

"Thanks, Nat," you replied, sensing there was more she was holding back. "She’s strong, has a lot of potentials. Reminds me a bit of someone else I know." You tried to lighten the mood with a smile.

Natasha returned the smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’ve noticed you two have been getting along. It’s good… good that she has someone like you to guide her."

Her words hung in the air, weighted with an unspoken emotion you couldn't quite decipher. It was clear that Natasha was trying to maintain her usual supportive demeanor, but something about her tone suggested she felt more conflicted than she let on.

You paused, searching her expression for clues to her thoughts. It was rare for Natasha to show vulnerability, and even now, she was guarded, her professional facade barely cracking. But you knew her well enough to recognize the slight tension in her posture, the way her eyes avoided yours for a fraction longer than usual.

"I want to make sure you’re okay with this," you said gently, addressing the elephant in the room. "With me training Wanda, I mean. I know things have been a bit different lately."

Natasha took a deep breath, her gaze meeting yours with a mixture of resilience and softness. "I am," she finally said. "I really am. It’s just been… a lot. With everything that’s happened—Sokovia, the new recruits—it feels like the ground is shifting under our feet. And maybe I’m just trying to find my footing again."

Her honesty broke through the last barriers of awkwardness between you. "I get that," you acknowledged, stepping a bit closer. "And I’m here, Nat. Whatever changes, that’s not going to."

She nodded, her usual composure regaining its foothold. "I know. And I’m grateful for that. It’s just not easy, seeing you connect with someone else over something that… that I can’t fully understand. But I know it’s important—for both of you."

You felt a pang of guilt for the inadvertent distance your new bond with Wanda might have created between you and Natasha. "Listen, nothing changes the fact that you’re the most important person to me here," you affirmed earnestly. "Helping Wanda doesn’t change what you mean to me."

Natasha smiled, this time a little more genuinely, though the complexity of her emotions still played at the edges of her expression. "I know," she said softly. "And I’m proud of what you’re doing for her. Just don’t forget, you have people who care about you too. Don’t lose yourself in someone else’s problems."

Her advice was heartfelt, stemming from her own experiences of getting too involved in the missions and the lives of others to the detriment of her personal wellbeing. "I won’t," you promised.

[leelany-world]

🤕 + Connorkus

💙💫💙💫💙💫💙

FRANKEDZ! Thank you so much for this ask 💙 I'm sorry it's taken a while, I'm still struggling with my low mood 🥺

A snippet with the prompt "🤕 panic hug / "I'm glad you're okay" with Connorkus"

It was one of countless, endless events to fight for their cause and their rights. Many people were on the side of the androids, but there were still some groups who refused to accept them, who refused to see them as a sentient species with their own rights. These groups were a great threat to the androids and especially to Markus, the face of the revolution and its leader. That's why North and Connor were always on edge during his speeches. Today was no different. Markus stood in front of a large, energetic crowd of androids and humans in an open conference hall, even though he had received another threat to stop the event. But Markus never backed down, fully trusting his partners to protect him. North's and Connor's eyes were constantly roaming the crowd, scanning faces for potential threats - it wasn't exactly legal, but Connor had shared this ability and the connection to the databases with North without anyone knowing. Markus was halfway through his speech when her HUD flashed a warning. DOWN! she sent over the always open connection to Connor and Markus. Connor immediately tackled Markus when a gun went off. The bullet whizzed just over their heads and lodged in the stone pillar behind them. Just as North was about to ask if everyone was okay, static exploded in their heads. The attacker must have used a jammer to distract them, but that didn't stop North. She jumped off the stage and tried to make her way through the panicked crowd. The humans fled in fear, while the androids lay on the ground, badly affected by the jammer. "North!" The RKs called after her, but more security shielded the two from the crowd. Markus and Connor watched her disappear around a corner, where the attacker had also fled, as another shot echoed through the room. "NORTH!" They shouted again, jumping up and pushing the other security guards away. Their connection was still down, and every second they couldn't feel or hear her seemed like an eternity without her. Markus and Connor instinctively grabbed each other's hands, their panic evident in the tight grip as they braced themselves for what they would find when they turned the corner, for North to be— "You son of a bitch! That was my favorite coat and now you've ruined it!"  —shouting at the unconscious attacker on the ground as she stuck a finger through a hole in the bottom of her coat.  Still not believing their eyes, Markus and Connor rushed to her and hugged her lovingly to feel that she was still alive. "We're glad you're okay," Connor whispered, burying his face in her soft hair. "I'm not," North pouted, "look at the hole in the present you gave me last week!" "We'll get you a new one," Markus laughed and kissed her forehead in relief. With a loud crunch, Connor crushed the jammer lying next to the attacker and they could finally hear their thoughts again. They stood there tightly embracing each other for a while until the police arrived and they had to face reality again.

3D models by DazCover (Connor) and guhzcoituz (North) on RenderHub and Zeppersart on Twitter (Markus)

From this Hug Ask Game! Feel free to send me an ask!

[crazylittlejester]

(I apologize in advance because this'll be a long one for I have so much to say)

Malon proposed to Time and it was the cutest thing ever and it made Time so red he thought he caught a fever.

Warriors may look thin, but that man could easily carry both Time and Twilight (with their armor on) without breaking a sweat. My man swings a huge ball and chain around that could easily be a few hundred pounds, he's shredded beneath those clothes.

Twilight has both the triforce of courage and power, and often uses the blessing from the triforce of power more often.

Hyruke has all three segments of the triforce. He uses the blessing from the triforce of wisdom the most.

Wild does not have a triforce price, neither does Flora, as in their era the triforce has been hidden away in the sacred realm.

All the Zeldas are taller than their Link. Even if by an inch, they are taller (With the biggest height difference being between Time and Lullaby, as she towers him by a good foot. The hardest to see is Sky and Sun, as she is only an inch taller.)

Four has a fear of every insect except for spiders, which makes him the only Link to not have arachniphobia.

Legend has fist fought a child before. No I will not elaborate.

If sleepy or pissed off, both Twilight and Warriors shift into their native tongues (I like to think Ordon is based in an Eastern European country, so I will happily be spreading my Hungarian Twilight agenda thank you very much.)

The most passive aggressive person in the group is Sky, as he gets tired of being all nice when somebody is being a prick but doesn't want to be outright rude.

Wind thinks Time's and Twilight's facial markings are cool and wants his own.

Time is short and his boots make him taller. He is around the same height as Sky without them, and Malon is taller than him too. It's because the lost forest didn't really have enough food for him to grow properly, so he's short now.

Wind, Warriors, and Time all have some sort of PTSD relating to the FD mask. (Warriors nearly died during battle because a possessed young Time didn't realize he was a friend and not a foe. Wind was forced to wear it once during battle and doesnt want to be near it after the pain it cause him. Time is basically fusing with the Deity with how often he wore it in his youth.)

Wild is not fully mortal and is considered half dead, so certain beings either like him or hate him more for it. (Fairies tend to avoid him while spirits tend to trust him).

Four can still see the Minish despite being considered to old to. They sometimes help if the chain gets lost.

Hyrule is not the field medic, it's actually Legend and Warriors.

Sky talks about Sun so much that everybody assumed they were already married. It surprised everyone when he revealed they weren't engaged yet.

During the events of the story, Malon is pregnant with her and Time's first child. The child is born after Time returns permanently, and it is Twilight's mom!

Everybody has cuddled Twilight, either it be when he was Wolfie or not, he has been cuddled.

Warriors is his Ganondorf's son, and the only ones to know is Time, Wind and Twilight. Wild somewhat knows due to the ruins he and Flora once found from his era, though he isn't quite sure.

Wild is not the only foodie in the group. All the boys can eat their own weight and not gain a single pound afterwards. They all love food and love trying different dishes from all places.

Certain Hyrules have myths and folklore about monsters we know about (such as ghouls, vampires, werewolves and such). For example, Hyrule thought Twilight was a werewolf after learning he was Wolfie and kept placing silver objects on top of him while he was on bedrest. (Which did nothing since Twilight isn't a werewolf.)

Hylia heavily favors Wild and Sky the most out of all the boys. (Since I like the idea of BOTW and TOTK being direct sequels to SS instead if further down the timeline)

Dark Link is an amalgamation of all the Link's darkest desires. He also has the ability to shift into any of the others if he focused enough of his energy to do so.

Twilight has committed cannabilism before. His wolfish instincts got the better of him, and the guy was trying to hurt Legend. Legend hasn't spoken about it since the incident, and only they know.

All the Links have eaten something inedible and every time they do it infront of Malon she does the clutching her pearls gesture and it's really cute.

I have so many more but I'm to tired to continue. I hope you're taking care of yourself ♥

You have no need to apologize I absolutely LOVE reading people’s headcanons, feel free to stop by my ask box and tell me ur headcanons whenever you’d like :)

1. I firmly believe this was the case, Malon absolutely proposed to him. I also believe she can pick him up and carry him around

2. I have a post I’m planning on making soon about body types but I am a FIRM believer that just because Warriors is thin doesn’t mean that man isn’t strong. He’s incredibly thin looking, the kind of guy you’d assume you can see his ribs, and people underestimate his strength because of it. Yes, physically there isn’t a whole lot of him, but that’s because he has very low body fat because it’s all muscle. To me he has a build similar to female ballet dancers. Very small and you wouldn’t assume he’s capable of much if you just saw him out and about, but when he’s in his element, NO ONE doubts his strength

3. EVERY ZELDA IS TALLER THAN EVERY LINK REAL. Personally I think Sky and Sun are like the same exact height from a distance, but if you look real close, she’s taller

4. The concept that Four is the only one who wouldn’t scream and absolutely loose it at the sight of a spider made me laugh. I wholeheartedly agree with you on that one

5. Legend vs. Child (chid won)

6. Hungarian Twilight is super cool! I really like that headcanon :)

7. Sky is FOR SURE the most passive aggressive because all the others would probably get at least a LITTLE snappy but Sky would whip out a customer service voice but there would be no light in his eyes

8. Wind absolutely asked for a face tattoo and Time definitely had to shut him down.

9. THE IDEA THAT TIME IS WALKING AROUND WITH LIKE 3 INCHES OF HEEL IN HIS BOOT IS HILARIOUS. I personally think he’s about 5’8 and roughly Malon’s height in Jojo’s au, but for my own interpretation of him He Is 5’5.

10. I have a headcanon that Wild’s eyes are more of a glowly sheika blue since he was brought back. I think there’s probably something slightly off about him that gives people and animals an uncanny sense about him, even though he’s very sweet and nice, something about him just feels odd

11. Four can always see the minish, I firmly believe that

12. WARRIORS IS THE FIELD MEDIC AND I’LL DIE ON THAT HILL. Sure the others know basic first aid and such, but Warriors has the most medical knowledge and training, though I like to think he teaches what he knows to Hyrule because Hyrule is curious

13. My personal headcanon is that Twilight is Time’s great grandson, but Time lived long enough to be able to meet his son’s daughter, who is Twilight’s mom. I like to think Twilight’s mom would’ve sung him songs she learned from Malon

14. Twilight is definitely one of the more cuddly members of the group, he’s definitely down for hugs you just gotta ask him first

15. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a headcanon that Wars is Ganondorf’s son but that’s cool! I headcanon that his father died in the army💀💀💀 He just gives me absent/dead father energy

16. I think Hylian folklores and myths are definitely wildly different throughout the eras, and it probably extended to the heroes as well! Like imagine an ‘Old Hylian Myth’ and it basically says that Sky is a giant or something and the others all meet this great hero of the skys and he’s 5’4

17. I can imagine Malon being like “Wild what are you making?” and he just goes “Monster parts stew :3”

I loved reading all of these! I hope you’re taking care of yourself as well :)

[ikamigami]

Theory...Nexus wanted to make himself a "new" brother, like how Eclipse made Lunar, because he still wants a family despite throwing his own away...That or he knows about Sun's ability or maybe whatever the Creator did and wants to study it, maybe?

Hmm.. as much as this theory seems interesting.. I doubt that Nexus wants to build himself a new brother..

Because Sun being one of the kind definitely doesn't mean that Nexus can only use his code to create himself a brother.. because why?

This most definitely mean Sun's connection to Wither Storms.. this is what's unique about him.. and I bet that Sun could turn into Wither Storm Dragon.. and probably will..

Also I doubt that Nexus wants any other family members beside Sun.. hence why he immediately called Dark Sun his brother.. and also why Ruin didn't want Sun's current code.. because I think that Nexus would clone Sun.. 1 to 1 copy.. cause I bet that he's that much obsessed.. even though he doesn't need Sun himself to look for wither shards..

And if Nexus was pretending to be Moon and he ordered Sun to take these photos of the lab of that Minecraft Moon where there were cloning machines.. then yeah..

Nexus would love to have Sun for himself.. and he'd love to clone him.. but Ruin was smart enough to not trust Nexus to have Sun's current code..

Well I think that Nexus will still clone Sun but he won't be like our Sun.. but I just think that if the code alone would be enough then Creator just wouldn't have to kidnap Sun..

I think that Nexus will try to make Sun with the same unique trait our Sun has.. and definitely not for any other reason you know

I just think that this won't be easy thing to do.. and I also am starting to think that Sun will somehow be able to feel something.. idk it's just a feeling cause we don't know how unique our Sun is.. what Sun's abilities are truly about.. cause I have a feeling that Sun being a Wither Storm (partially or fully) will surprise as with more than one thing.. cause well we don't know much about Wither Storms in sams..

Or this is what I think based on my observations and such..

I might be wrong..

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Astarion's vampirism creates concern and he finds out information about his soul mate mark.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 4: Outliers

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 3.6k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Act 1 Spoilers

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Istiks never seem to learn that their hearts always bring about their ruin. One must rip, shred, and tear their way through for the betterment of their kin. To hold bonds denotes weakness. To have compassion is a slow suicide. There are no gods to protect you. Emotions only serve to enslave you. I’d rather lead myself and my people into the pyre than let any of that fester inside.

— Lae’zel, meandering thoughts written on the back of a map

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Tav awoke with two puncture wounds staring at her in the face.

The blood clotted overnight, leaving droplets of leftover residue near the fang marks of Astarion's thirst. As she sat up, her head felt noticeably woozy and the length of her forearm felt bruised. She touched it gingerly, recalling the moment he pulled her towards him in the heat of his heightened hunger while he latched onto her wrist.

She placed her face in her hands and groaned. Gods, whatever was she thinking last night?

Right. Astarion had her thoroughly enthralled. The tadpole connections were a mistake for that reason alone: the ability to look into another’s mind, to see their secrets untamed, and feel all those emotions together. And with what had transpired, it had left quite the effect on her.

The images he had shown her were so brutal—so full of suffering—Tav thought maybe she understood just one equation that made up the countless formulas that created this vampire into the man he was in the present. She wondered if his dramatic theatrics may be a performance, a front to hide the torment he had experienced over the course of his undead life. Only, he revealed to her a side that kept her head on a swivel. When he entered her tent and asked ordinary questions about her life to ease her anxiety about him biting her and then afterwards when he took the liberty to lay her down on her roll safely, Astarion had been tender.

But, which version of him was the real one—if any at all?

Yet, there was still an infinite amount of revelations the bard didn’t know about him. Would he begin to trust her with those in due time? Or would the practiced Casanova would sink further into velvet pillows, surrounded by chalices of blood and other pleasures, that could never be the tonic to truly heal him. Hells, what about her fully trusting him beyond the surface she materialized? Was that even a possibility?

He had to have her, so he drank. And on the seventh day, her heart started to resurrect.

Lest she ignore those lustful thoughts she couldn’t fetch away with a pail to bury into the sands of the ocean. One touch from him was all it took for her to be at his beck and call. It was troubling to be at the whims of a man within a short time period of their introductions. To be at the whims of a man at all.

She rubbed at her temples. He will harm you, Tavelle. The more pieces of your heart that he wades through, the easier it will be for him to weaponize what you hold most dear. This isn’t uncommon to you. Do not let your benevolence expose yourself any further, else the path is laid with punishment.

Everything was disconcerting. Uncertain. Perilous. Tav’s mistakes with Astarion were adding up. She had now allowed him access to her body, blood, and specks of cloaked frailty that she had tied over and over again with twine, binding her tightly from others doing no harm. Nobody else in recent years had managed to disarm her with such a disposition of their character like he did.

Tav’s eyes watered, her lips warm and flushed out of inner anguish. But, maybe that’s what you deserve? For all your wrongdoings. For not having the proper strength in the past to assert yourself. You sickened Algos, why not the others? You’re gloomy and sensitive. If you don’t stay one step ahead, everyone will know. Maybe you should endure this over and over again because deep down, you know the truth: you hate yourself.

She pushed out a long shaky puff of air through her lips, quietly delivering a speech to herself. “No. That isn’t true. You’re worth more than that. You’re a good woman that is deserving of a love that feels safe. Of kindness. A soft and healing kind of love. Not just romantically, but love in all ways. You deserve your peace.”

Convincing her heart that the gnawing twinge wasn’t real when it came to Astarion, would only mar her in the long run. Because here’s the deal: she was starting to care about him. Vigilance in keeping her relationship with him as an established friendship had to become one of her priorities—for her own sake before he became a weakness she couldn’t control.

To thine own self stay true.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Good morning. How are you feeling?” Astarion whispered, nimbly catching the pack that had fallen off of Tav’s shoulder midair.

“Thank you." A quirky chuckle passed as she took the bag from him and secured it tightly around her shoulders. "I'm a bit groggy. But, I’ll manage.”

Astarion could hear the quickening of her heartbeat, much like it sounded when her wrist was under his moistened lips the previous night. By the mercy of her sweet essence, he couldn’t stop thinking about how incredible she tasted. A sinful mixture of ambrosia and the sugary tart secretions of her slit he could smell. The coppery taste was still idly hiding in the pockets of spaces between his teeth. Every so often, the swipe of his wettened tongue would touch one of the spots where her blood resided and the juxtaposition of his arousal would intrude.

”Let’s be fortunate, I'm not a true vampire. One bite from them and you could wake up as a vampire spawn—like my good self. All of their hunger, but very few of their powers.”

Tav turned her neck to the side, her brow knitted in confusion. “How are you able to stand in the sun? Is it because you’re not a full vampire?”

He stretched out his arm, moving branches out of the way for them as they careened through a dense growth of bushes. “No. I should have become ash in the sunlight. I hadn’t seen the sun for over two centuries before the mind flayers captured us.”

“Two centuries…I can imagine it must have come as a shock to you then.”

“Yes, well, apparently the rules have been changed.” The infliction in his voice rose excitedly. “Standing in the sun, wallowing through a river, entering homes without an invitation—they’re all perfectly mundane activities now.”

Tav beamed at him with one of her frequent amiably smiles Astarion noticed she typically presented. She listened so intently to him without uttering so much as a single sound, that he could have mistaken her for the dense-minded variety. And it wasn't only on this occasion, it was each time they spoke. He didn't believe she was doing it because she was actually interested in anything he had to tell her, more so, that she was being attentive to be polite and possibly gain something from it later—much like every single victim he had slept with.

“So, we’re traveling with a vampire? Of COURSE we are. I must warn you, I taste awful,” Gale interrupted with heavy sarcasm.

Astarion grinned, bowing his head as he noticed their companions had been listening to his conversation with the bard. “Now, now, I swear on this unbeating heart of mine that I will behave and not surprise any of you with a midnight nibble—unless you’d like one, of course. How does that sound?”

Shadowheart shrugged. “We’re all monsters in the making as far as I’m concerned. Just keep your distance from our necks—else we put a bell on you to dissuade you from hunting in our camp.”

Lae’zel didn’t offer much in the way of words, instead giving him a fierce warning. “Any fangs at my neck and I’ll gut you without so much as a thought, vamp.”

Tav moved to stand in between Astarion and the group, her hands placed firmly on her hips and voice composed. "I trust him; he will not harm us. We came to an agreement last night that when his hunger arises, if I am able, I will let him drink my blood. Otherwise, he has permission to sup from wild animals, our enemies, but no innocents.”

Astarion squinted his eyes in a befuddling expression. What in the bloody hells is she doing lying to them?

“What? I mean, yes, of course, we spoke at great lengths about how our gallant songbird will become my personal bloodbag. You have nothing to fear.”

Survival. That was all that mattered to him. Yet, this elven woman dared to jeopardize the burgeoning relationships she was forming with the others to offer him protection? How idiotic. Surely, she would inquire about what she was getting out of all this in return. Oh, and he would provide! He would take her along the edge of the river’s flowing waters and bait the crickets to set the mood with the violin of their legs as he wrote the alphabet of their common language with his tongue on her skin.

Yes, the gears were steadfastly spinning around inside his head as if they had just been thoroughly oiled. Gods above, the sweetest of dalliances this would be! Delightful!

Recite thy prayers in earnest and receive the saliva of his want. Blessed art thou amongst the music of the night, for thou shall inherit his bite.

Gale’s eyes darted from the vampire’s face to Tav’s wrist. He appeared bothered as he reached out, abruptly grabbing her forearm, the fresh wounds on display. “You let him bite you already?! Without warning the rest of us first?! Did you not think about how reckless that was, Tav?!”

“It was my decision to make, Gale. I already told you all that I trusted him. I would never have put any of you in danger,” Tav replied firmly, trying to shake his grip from her.

“No wonder you smelled like him this morning,” the human man muttered under his breath.

With the lucidity of his innate roguish movements, Astarion’s hand appeared around the wizard’s arm, clasping with his full strength. “Surely, you have finer mannerisms than some garish jealous sod. Or has all that time cooped up in your magic tower made you forget how to treat a lady?”

Gale pursed his mouth together, giving a final displeased look to Tav before releasing her. He stalked ahead with the other two women towards Emerald Grove that was now within view.

“I thought so,” Astarion sneered.

Tav lost her footing and fell back against Astarion’s chest with a gentle thud from the accidental force of Gale’s seizure. His hands flew to rest carefully on either side of her waist to steady her. She took a deep shaky breath, then spun her body around to face him.

With the balletic of her touch, she removed his hands, giving them a soft squeeze. “I—thank you. And I’m sorry. I probably should have been more considerate of everyone’s feelings over the matter before I let you drink from me. Gale and I will need to have a serious discussion soon over a few matters.”

Astarion flashed his fangs apathetically. “Whatever you need to do, my dear. I’m surely not going to lose any minutes of meditation over it.”

“By the by, I meant what I said earlier. It would certainly ease everyone’s worries to follow those boundaries. Only until they become more comfortable around you.” The side of her lip timidly receded in the center of her teeth. “I also don’t mind if you wish to continue to feed on my blood either, if—well, if that’s what you want of course. Just don’t go around randomly biting anyone.”

She—huh. He was mildly astounded, yet grateful for her offering to his stead. “I wouldn’t want to renege on our agreement, darling. Besides, I couldn’t imagine anyone’s flavor being comparable to yours. I can’t wait to eat you right up," Astarion gravelly laughed as he soothingly rubbed around the marks on her wrist.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Astarion was irritated.

Nettie, the local druidic healer, proved to be of little help in aiding them with a cure for their worms. She insisted they coat their innards with a concocted vial of wyvern toxin the precise moment they sensed ceremorphosis changing them. Oh, but she certainly knew how to win over Tav with that pitiful sulk!

But, what really REALLY fabricated the aggrievement within the pit of his stomach, was Tav’s altruistic nature towards damned near everyone they came into contact with. It wasn’t enough that they were already on a suicide mission—with gods know how much time they had left to control the tadpoles—but now, she suggested they be a personal servant to nearly every blasted request they received.

”Save our Archdruid Halsin from those capricious goblins,” they beseeched. 

"You’re strong. Capable. With the strength of the Absolute on the rise and the commonality of your tadpoles, only YOU can help us!" they cried out.

And the catch? The pockets of their purses hardly graced with a suitable reward and the promise of maybes that this Halsin could help them.

“We don’t even know if the druid is still alive! Yet, you want us to be saviors for this—this—stranger as if it is owed to him. Really, sweetheart, your martyrdom is inscrutable, ” Astarion commented callously.

Tav crossed her arms over her chest, undeniably patient as Astarion haughtily voiced his concerns. “I’m not asking anything of you, Astarion. You have a choice. What do you want to do?”

What kind of an absurd question was that?! He pondered. What he wanted. Preposterous.

“Ah yes, when you put it like that, the answer is so clear! I can either help, remain in camp, or travel on my own since the other weirdos in our group have already given into your sirenic charms," he said, counting off the options on his fingers in frustration.

Druid’s Grove was proving to be a disaster by Astarion’s observation. Helpless tieflings in every corner crying about the plight of their situation. Then, the druids seemed almost radicalized to rid their home of the migrants, that they were endlessly trying to recruit him and his companions to do damage control. Not to mention any residents that did reside there already, were so obsessed with the novelties of protecting the natural world and...gods be fucked, was that bear dung he just stepped in?

Lest he not forget about that Wyll Ravenguard stray they picked up: the Blade of Frontiers himself. It wasn’t that Wyll wasn’t a welcome addition to their court—he was a powerful monster hunter—but that damnable bard didn’t even bat an eyelash when she decided to ask him to join. Yes, he had a tadpole as well, but he was on a personal mission to find some archdevil’s soldier called Karlach. And she, once again, faithfully volunteered to be thrown into the fray to face down a fiend of Avernus.

“Have you forgotten about the crèche Lae’zel spoke about? I don’t know why we haven’t already headed in that direction. A mystery indeed,” the spawn added critically.

“There is truth to that which he speaks. Had we not decided to aid these ishtiks, we would be closer to where my kin was last seen. That weak tiefling, Zorru, mentioned seeing a red dragon flying low by the bridges leading into the mountains,” Lae’zel stated while she cleaned the edge of her sword. “We must meet with the Kith’rak as soon as possible.”

Wyll, in all his wondrous ability to wax a sensible demeanor, addressed the disagreement. “With much due respect, I have a duty to find the Advocatus Diaboli first before we leave the area.”

All witnessing eyes were fixed on Tav, as if she were the town harlot walking up to the altar to confess her impurities. No matter the commandments she gathered, they awaited her with the scarlet trumpet of judgment blown by a winged creature to embroider upon her back.

The normal paleness of Tav’s skin shed itself to reveal a reddish hue. She seemed crestfallen by the coming and going of her complex expression. “Okay," she breathed out.

Then, the songstress promptly left the conversation as if she had mistakenly stumbled upon it. Her plait swished down her back as she walked in the opposite direction where they were having their heated discussion.

Astarion wasn’t sure he should have been shocked or amused by the brashness of her actions.

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“Ah, so that is where you’ve been? Sneaking off to enjoy the pleasures of lyricism while the rest of us are disposed to play musical chairs to your noble commitments," Astarion openly barked.

The rogue had been throwing knives at a nearby tree along the breaches of the camp when he noticed Tav rounding the pathway, lute in hand, strolling with Alfira by her side. She did not pay him mind until after she hugged the tiefling, bidding her adieu with quiet words of encouragement.

Tav walked towards the tree to retrieve the knives sticking snugly in the bark, a visible frown forming shortly after the bardling departed. “I apologize I left so suddenly, but I needed some time to breathe in order to figure out what our next move should be. The talks became overwhelming fast.”

Astarion took the knives from her, lining one up with his sight to throw at the trunk. With one eye closed, he watched as the tip of the blade left his fingertips and embedded itself precisely into the bullseye of the bark he picked to hit.

“Our next move? Ha! I have to wonder where that mind of yours wanders off to sometimes," he scorned, melodramatically animating his hands. "It amazes me that the torch that was passed to you gets doused because you decided to rest on your laurels when things got complicated."

The marking behind his ear began to pulse wildly as if it had a beating heart of its own. He touched it delicately with his fingertips, bading it to calm itself. 

This cursed thing only reacts when she's around. Frankly, what an inconvenience. It’s not as if she were my... No. No. NO. NO. NO, he deliberated erratically inside his brain.

Astarion stared unblinking at Tav, his red eyes wide like cherry pies. Her voice was static as her lips moved; each word jumbled and fuzzy. Those tempest eyes, usually unwavering in her dreadful kindness, now a mixture of hurt and annoyance.

“…what?”

She bit at her lip. “I said, what wrongs have I done to warrant this venom? I had no desire to be the leader, yet it was appointed to me anyways. I am nothing more than a bard that has studied the rapier my entire life. There is nothing special about me, yet you—”

Astarion needed to escape. Push her away from him. “Honestly, your decorum as our ‘leader’ could do with some improvement since you seem content with leading us to the butcher’s rack.”

“Have I not tried to pursue everyone’s input despite my polarity in the face of some of those subjects? I have never forced or manipulated a single one of you to bend to the wills of my heart. You’ve ALWAYS had a choice.”

He watched her behavior for any signs that she knew he possessed the same marking she did. Was that area on her arm where she scratched the location of the mark? Or was it on the dip in her hip where she placed her hand confidently?

He felt a bubbling sickness in his stomach. Wait, does she not know? How could she not know?

And then, the final poison spewed from his throat. A deflective acidic stream that he knew would damage her good nature and protect himself from her. “I see now my expectations of you were misplaced. If we all start to transform, it will be because of your bleeding heart you can't seem to balance out.”

Tav’s eyes welled up with angered tears.

“I didn’t mean—” he began.

“Yes, you did! What is this truly about, Astarion? Please help me to understand because I sure as hells don’t deserve this treatment from you of all people. And I absolutely don’t deserve this from someone that calls themselves my friend,” she pleaded sternly.

Then, it suddenly dawned on Astarion: he hadn’t had a friend in over 200 years. Tav was right, this wasn’t how friends acted. His “siblings” were also slaves to the same master and not exactly individuals he would refer to so intimately. He hadn’t spent more than a single night with anyone outside of the Crimson Palace for centuries, and now, he had been thrown into these stranger's arms for over a week. He was terrified.

Astarion knew how to be a lover—how to deceive and convince people to do as he pleased—but could he learn how to be a friend if only for the sake of protection? He wasn’t even sure he understood what that meant anymore or what it entailed.

Another mistake.

This bard, with her penchant for compassion and blood that would ensnare him to his grave over and over again, was driving him into madness. It wasn’t his fault he was thrown off his accustomed position that usually had the upper hand. He wasn’t to blame for any of it.

“Gods! I don’t know—I just—don’t expect me to go out of my way to save anyone.”

But, he did know.

He knew each time she asked his opinion about a situation.

He knew when she warm heartedly asked him about what he wanted.

He knew every morning he woke up and bathed with the sun’s beams cradling his face.

Astarion knew that he was still half bound in perdition to his master, while the other half was granted ablution for a fresh start in life.

And recently, he knew his soulmate was the elven bard standing in front of him named Tavelle Swiftchoir and he couldn’t have been more disappointed.

[eisforeidolon]

Hey there, I hope you don't mind me dropping in here on a topic from a few days ago and harping on about it (I'm not very well-versed on ask boxes so I'm a bit unsure of the etiquette. If I commit a major faux-pas, forgive me). Apologies if this ends up a little long and a lot sarcastic - I have opinions about this. It's given me a fair bit of grief over the years.

Y'know, I see these 'abusive Dean' takes float across my dash a fair bit (apparently not being into Destiel or Wincest means I must be a Bitter Sam-girl instead and hate Dean, according to Tumblr). The oh-so-delightful 'abusive husband Dean and beaten wife Sam' takes. People calling Sam 'beaten wife coded' in general. One based on a grand total of two instances where he flinched cause Dean made a loud violent noise near him (who the hell wouldn't, you don't need to be 'beaten wife coded' to flinch when someone chucks a chair at a wall, it's almost like Sam has some kind of trauma about various other things and might be generally jumpy...). Or taking the end of S10 out of context and choosing to forget that Dean was nearly fully taken over by a mark of fratricide (which he still managed to overcome, they conveniently fail to mention that). And I just... ugh.

What I never understood about these takes is like... why? There's trying to paint your fave in a good light and a character you hate in a bad one, but then there's making the heart and soul of the show itself into something so ugly it ruins it for other people, like your Anon, and honestly this happened to me too a while ago before I forced myself to stop listening to the greater fandom and find a few I trusted (like you). Even still, it gets all up in my head sometimes. Why are these people finding such glee in making the central relationship so awful? What are you getting out of this show if you think that about it?

Like, imagine looking at the finale through this lens. Congratulations, you turned something sad but ultimately bittersweet into something horrible, the 'beaten wife' dedicating the rest of their life to their 'abuser' then being forced to be with them for eternity, and this is portrayed as a good thing. Why would you ever want to view it that way? Plus, it's rather forced if you take it as a whole - the few times Sam stood there looking contrite while Dean did something stupid pale in comparison to the number of times he calls him out on it, even in the later seasons (14x12 Prophet and Loss, anyone? 15x17 Unity?).

I guess people can take from media what they want, it's obviously not my place to police people's enjoyment, but I just never got the appeal. It seems so counter to what the show was clearly actually trying to do, yet they tout it as fact (now where have I seen that before). Like it's somehow a bad thing to enjoy the show on its own terms. Coming across these takes still kinda bums me out. This goes for people insisting it's the other way around too - I can't stand any brother vs. brother stuff either, it's never anything but bad faith, and honestly kinda misses the point. Some of these people boggle my mind with their lack of empathy.

If there's one thing this fandom is good for, it's honing your ability to roll your eyes and move along. It's full of so much absolute batshit insanity that you'll never survive if you listen to every take. Trust me, I've tried. Do you know which tags to block to avoid this kinda stuff? Cause I never seem to be able to.

Sorry if this was a bit of a rant dump, heh. I'm usually a chronic lurker, but this discourse in particular bothers me immensely.

You're absolutely fine, I mind neither bringing up previous topics nor excessive length (be a bit of a hypocrite if I did, tbh). And yeah, it's one of my least favorite SPN fandom discourses, too.

It does feel like it's pretty hard to find any corner of the fandom where you won't at least occasionally see one side or the other's worst faith not!fave-brother-is-terrible takes. And oh, do I hate the 'beaten wife Sam' half of the 'Dean is an abuser' discourse equation just as much. Like, supposedly they like Sam, so why on earth would they want to pretend this stubborn competent badass of a character is actually a helpless pathetic marshmallow?! Same with Dean on the opposite side of the fandom - it's not just the character they're constantly maligning I can't recognize, the character they "like" similarly bears very little resemblance to the one I'm a fan of!

So far as I can tell, some people just desperately need their favorite character to be the best one who is always in the right. Whether it's over-identification or what, I don't know. They seem to think they achieve it by reframing large portions of the canon as justifying, unfairly attacking, or insulting that character as necessary. Except they don't see how from the outside it very often looks entirely absurd, regardless of if they're doing it in favor of Sam, Dean, or Castiel. Which is not to say there aren't parts of canon which treat all of those characters ridiculously in one way or another? But it's the total fixation on it only being the case with their favorite character in every possible situation where it gets weird.

Every great once in a while, I do manage to come across a take that really annoys me. But for the most part? The extreme ones are just so absurd, so divorced from what anyone even vaguely trying to understand the other characters' motivations and what the show quite obviously intended? I just can't take it at all seriously. Especially when they (as they so often do) get canon details wrong or pointedly "forget" all the canon points that blatantly don't fit their narrative.

Unfortunately, like with a certain ship, when it comes to tagging? You're kind of at the mercy of the self-awareness of the poster about how much other people may not want to see their hot takes.

[springfallendeer]

Frayed Wires

A wireplay fic involving my oc Ayala and @twistedviper's OC "Jho", set in the Fazbear universe (as well as an unspecified AU).

fic includes wireplay as well as human on animatronic intercourse, and is over 8k words (ergo it is a bit of a read).

This was bad.

He had just charged. As in he had just now woken up from charging. But for some reason, he could barely move.

His whole body felt heavy, and sluggish. Despite being fully charged, the stored energy was struggling to move throughout his body.

Every minor movement felt forced. Merely flexing his fingers required a lot of concentration. Not because he was in decline cognitively; every message that needed to be relayed was being relayed just as quickly as before. The problem was that his body had suddenly lost the ability to respond accordingly; and as reluctant as he was to admit it, he knew exactly what the problem was.

He was in dire need of maintenance. The wires and cables that kept his body functional had finally been worn to the brink of breaking. He was effectively pulling energy through a few hair-thin copper strands, which were at risk of snapping from the force of the strained electrical current.

His wires had reached the point where the slightest twist or bend could completely ruin them. No amount of electrical tape or jerry-rigging the individual cables could keep him functional in the long run.

Something needed to be replaced.

Given how long it had been since he had last been repaired... Chances were that quite a lot of something needed to be replaced. Which made it all the more terrifying for him to have to reach out in search of aid.

No one liked being subjected to these invasive procedures. Humans certainly didn’t. And they were often unconscious throughout their operations.

Oftentimes, the animatronics were given no such luxury. They remained somewhat active throughout most repairs, just to assure that everything was going smoothly.

The process was unpleasant and far from perfect. There had been many incidents in the past where human and animatronic alike had been left worse for wear, due to a mishap. Those unpleasant mishaps were exactly why he had gone out of his way to avoid maintenance for so long.

But now, he had no choice but to seek repairs. Failure to do so now could and likely would lead to him suffering lethal malfunctions. If he didn’t get fixed now, then he would undoubtedly wind up being decommissioned. And if that happened, then the best case scenario was that he would simply turn off and never come back on.

Worst case scenario? He would wind up trapped beneath the plex, conscious and barely functional. Doomed to waste away into nothing, surrounded by nothing but the rusting remains countless other decommissioned animatronics.

Animatronic Hell is what that fate would be. The idea of it managed to terrify him more than the idea of being sent to parts and services.

But that did not mean that he would simply bow his head and allow just anyone to work on him.

Making the arrangements proved incredibly difficult, given his limited mobility. More so, because the issues also affected his ability to speak. So little power could be pushed through his body that even his voice box struggled to emit the words that he wished to say. The fact that his desired help decided to seek him out became less the result of having been asked, and more the result of her immediate concern over his obvious malfunctions. Which only solidified the idea that he could trust her with this important task.

Waiting for her to arrive was still unpleasant and anxiety inducing. But the idea of having someone by his side who cared about his well being brought him immense comfort.

When help arrived, most of his anxiety just... Washed away.

The concern on her face. The hushed, worried tone of her voice. The gentle way that she brought her hands up to cradle his cheeks as he struggled to speak. Everything mixed together to solidify the fact that she meant him no harm, and that she would do everything in her power to help him.

Were he capable of it, he would have cried. Her touch alone brought so much comfort. Her presence lifted a weight from his shoulders that almost made him believe that it was easier for him to move.

It wasn’t. But it was nice to feel less restrained, even if it was only an illusion.

“Jho, what happened?!...” The woman asked. Her hushed, gentle voice kept him grounded as he attempted to force the words from his voice box.

For a while, his voice box could do nothing but produce static. His voice struggled to even resonate through the unappealing sound. But eventually, “Wires” could be heard through the distorted sounds.

“Wires?...” She repeated in response. He could tell by her tone that she was confused. But he couldn’t explain. Try as he might, his voice just couldn’t do for him what he needed it to do.

All that he could really do was glance to the side past her to stare at a specific shelf. There was a book there. An old, worn out book that contained all the necessary blueprints and instructions on how to repair him.

She would need to go and get the supplies from parts in services, because he did not have them. Because he could hardly move, there would be no getting him to walk there, and she certainly lacked the strength to move him.

With her focus on him, it took time for her to figure out that he was trying to guide her. He tried to say “Book”. He tried many, many times. But the whisper of his voice could not be heard through the static.

Bless her heart. She did her best to listen. She brought her head right to the source of the static, and ignored the unpleasant sound as it blared in her ear. But for all the effort she put into listening, all she really managed to do was give herself a headache.

For as frustrated as the inability to communicate made her, it was obvious that she just wanted to help. While her eyes watered and she grew restless out of worry, she never once snapped at him.

This does not mean that she never snapped. Far from it. Jho was helpless to do much more than anxiously sit and watch as the poor woman worked herself up into a bit of a frenzy out of panic. She cursed under her breath. She fidgeted in place and even stomped her foot in frustration.

He watched as her chest heaved faintly from what must have been a developing panic attack. He listened to the sound of her blowing air through her mouth in long, slow breaths as she attempted to ease away the panic. He watched her comb her fingers through her hair in an attempt to calm herself.

It made him feel guilty, knowing that he was the reason that she had fallen into this state of distress. The inability to actually comfort her and apologize made him feel worse.

Honestly, it was a stroke of blind luck that she took interest in the shelf.

As she paced, she glanced around the room. Likely in an attempt to calm herself, or find something, anything, that could be of help.

Inevitably, she spotted the shelf. He watched as she glanced at it, then locked eyes with her as she glanced back at him.

He watched the theoretical gears in her head turn as she began to speculate whether or not he was staring at the shelf.

Eventually she paused, took one last deep breath, and made her way over to the shelf.

He watched as she began to rummage through it. As he did, he found himself grateful for the fact that he had so few personal belongings. Anything that was not obviously a tool or a book was ignored. Which meant that it did not take long at all for her to happen upon the old book that he needed her to find.

She picked it up, likely drawn to the cover. It depicted him. Or rather, it depicted animatronics of his type. He watched as she opened it and skimmed multiple pages.

The instant that she realized that she was holding the key to aiding him, she closed the book and turned to face him.

“Jho, sweetie. Stay right there. Don’t move. I’ll be right back, I just need to go and get some things.” She stated.

He was so relieved that he almost rolled his eyes in response. Not because he was annoyed, but because of the redundancy of her statements.

He could not move. There wasn’t a chance of him getting to the door, yet alone making it out of the room.

Then again... It was obvious that she was just trying to communicate with him. She was just making sure that he knew what she was doing. The last thing that she wanted was to risk him misunderstanding her actions.

Imagine if she had just left without saying anything, and he had interpreted it as abandonment in his time of need? Best case scenario, he would have spent some time alone with intrusive thoughts.

Worst case scenario? He would have done exactly what she did not want him to do. He would have tried to get up. Which could have ended poorly.

He cannot even verify to her that he understands what she has asked of him. So he can only imagine how terrified she must be when she turns and leaves. Because she does not know for certain if he can even understand her.

She doesn’t know how extensive the damage is, or if he even recognizes her in his damaged state. She just has to hope that he does, and trust that he can listen when she leaves.

Once she is gone, he is naturally alone. Trapped in his room and unable to do more than glance around the room as he anxiously awaits her return. All the while aware of the fact that, if anyone or anything was to seek him out with intent on doing him harm, he could do nothing to defend himself.

That alone was enough to send him into a mental turmoil.

No one liked the idea of being helpless. As someone who had already experienced utter helplessness more than once in the past, he was all too familiar with it.

The slightest sound, imagined or otherwise, was almost enough to make him jump with unease.

He was alone. Unable to move. Reliant on Ayala’s speed and determination to help him. At the complete and utter mercy of anyone or anything that might happen across him while she was away.

He hated it. He hated being so helpless and afraid.

It was such a relief when she finally returned. He had no idea how long she was actually away for, but given the amount of supplies that she had brought along, it must have been a while. It appeared as though she has grabbed anything and everything as recommended by the book, just because she did not know what the exact problem was.

“I’m back!... I’m back.” The woman exclaims as she bursts back into the room. She is quick to calm herself once she arrives to find the animatronic still awake and... About as functional as before.

She then drags the heavy cart of supplies over to where he sits, so that she can get started on repairing him.

“A-alright, I uh... I’m gonna need to open you up, alright? I’ve grabbed everything we should need. So... Hopefully I won’t have to bring you up to parts and services.” She murmured as she approached.

While he could not relay his understanding to her, he did appreciate that she was trying to communicate with him. She clearly understood how uncomfortable this situation was for him, and so she was making an attempt at easing away his discomfort. She was just trying to help.

He trusted her to help him. He just wished that he could make it clear that he did. But for the time being, all that he could do was sit and wait for her to patch up the issue.

He doesn’t like not being able to see what she’s doing. Nor is he a fan of not being able to walk her through what needs to be done.

But still, he does trust her. She is a smart woman. Compassionate. One who has gone out of her wait to get trained on animatronic care, just so that she could be of use during emergencies such as this.

She has helped others in the past. There is no doubt in his troubled mind that she can help him now.

Still. He is anxious. He cannot help but be anxious.

Especially when he feels the woman press her fingers down on the specific pressure points around his temple, triggering the release of the plate that covers the back of his head.

The brief silence proves palpable. He can tell based off of it that she is... Appalled, by the state of him. Disturbed and overwhelmed by how years of abuse and neglect have left him completely and utterly broken, inside and out.

He feels how her hands tremble as they brush against the open edges of his metal skull.

As much as he wants too, he cannot even offer a reassuring word.

It doesn’t hurt. At least not the same way that it once did. He has long since grown accustomed to the constant discomfort of his body as it slowly falls apart on the inside. So much so that he can no longer remember a time where something inside of him did not feel... Off.

He can hear her when she takes a long, deep breath.

Then he finds himself startled by the sound and feel of air as it blows into his open skull.

Canned air, specifically. He can hear the familiar hiss as it escapes the can.

But still, the unexpected sensation startled him. He had only really anticipated the feeling of wires being disconnected so that they could be replaced.

His anxiety only increases when, after a few seconds of being aired out, he hears the woman start to cough.

Shortly after which, he sees a cloud of dust particles and mystery fibers start to drift into the air in front of him.

No wonder the poor girl was coughing. With the amount of dust being blown out of him, it would have taken a miracle for her to have been able to breathe at all.

Despite being the one with his head opened up and in the process of being cleaned, he cannot help but worry about her.

She should have a mask on. She should have grabbed any and all PPE that was at her disposal, for her own sake.

If anything inside of him breaks, it can be repaired. But fixing an issue inside of her body was not nearly as simple, and somehow, it would cost more than repairing him.

He would be gently scolding her for being so foolish, once his voice was back in working order. She should know better than to put her own health at risk for his sake. Because truly, she was irreplaceable. He would not be happy if she went and hurt herself for his sake.

Eventually, the canned air either runs out. That, or it was put away once the debris had been thoroughly cleaned out.

The woman takes her time once she actually starts to deal with his damaged wires. He can feel as she lightly pinches each individual wire between her fingers to follow them to their connection point. Probably so that she can keep track of which wire leads where, so as to keep from damaging him further.

The big issue is that his wires are rather... Disorganized. Previous technicians failed to keep him properly maintained, and so there is no doubt in his mind that all of the wires in his head have transformed into tangled mass.

The patience that the woman shows in carefully sorting through the wires puts him more at ease. It is a relief to learn that she will not just pick a random wire and tug it haphazardly out of place.

He can feel everything that is done. Every touch, every tug, and every disconnect; on top of the ensuing consequences of a disconnected wire.

Previous technicians never bothered to take his pain into account when working on him.

It was honestly touching to be shown so much care now. Soft touches like the ones he was being given now were few and far between for the animatronics. Especially during times of maintenance.

One by one, the damaged wires are disconnected so that they can be untangled, removed, and replaced.

With each disconnection, some part of him is momentarily taken out of commission. His limbs will lock up, or go limp. He loses the ability to see, or to hear, or even to feel. His voicebox is shut off entirely with one disconnection.

Previously, he would have been distressed each time one of his senses or abilities was taken away from him. But the gentleness of the woman’s actions and her slow, calculated efforts make the experience a lot less stressful than those prior.

She only takes one thing from him at a time, so long as she can manage. He can feel how she carefully arranges the wires and secures them so that they will not get tangled as easily in the future.

Bit by bit, she repairs him.

His eyes flicker off with the disconnection of a damaged wire. She goes through the process of working a replacement into place, and then his vision is restored. The wire is secured, and then she moves on to the next one.

Gradually, he regains the ability to move. He occupies himself by testing his mobility while she fixes him up. He lifts and flexes his fingers. He stretches his jaw, and works his tongue to assure that all is in order.

Eventually, he can feel his voicebox come back into working order.

“Ay-a-la?...” His voice croaked as he attempted to say the woman’s name. As broken as the words sounded, he at least confirmed that he could speak again. There was no more static. Each syllable could be heard loud and clear. It would just take some time for everything to be recalibrated through use.

He can feel her jump somewhat in response to his voice. Most likely because she had become so engrossed in her work that she failed to anticipate that he would inevitably speak.

“Yes?” She quietly replied.

He could feel her hands as they continued to work. She was very nearly done replacing all of the damaged wires in his head. Soo, the procedure would be over and he would be back in top shape. He just needed to be patient for a while longer.

“... Are you al-right?” He asked.

For a split second, he can feel how her fingers falter as they follow a wire.

“I’m fine. Just... Trying to concentrate.” She eventually replied.

“You were cough-ing...” Jho muttered in turn. He can tell that she is intentionally being vague with her response. She knows why he had asked her if she was alright. She just chose to interpret it as him asking her because she was being uncomfortably quiet.

“You were really dusty.” She responded.

At last, she finishes working on him. Or at least she finishes working on the wires in his head. After what she’s seen, she fully intends on opening up his torso to see how bad the poor bot is internally.

Jho remains quiet for a moment as she carefully closes the back of his head. He also makes sure to hold nice and still, just to make it easier for her to finish up.

“... I uh... I-I have not been checked in quite some time.” He awkwardly states. Now that the stress and anxiety of the moment had passed, he was actually quite embarrassed. She had just seen him at his most vulnerable. She had been made witness to the horrible reality of his existence.

Broken and dirty.

He struggles to find the will to turn and look her in the face once she’s got him closed up.

He also flinches somewhat when he feels damp cloth being rubbed against his body. Mostly because it is cold, but also because of how awkward he feels after having been seen in this state.

He remains quiet as the woman cleans him up.

For as awkward as he feels... It also feels nice, being properly maintained. Ayala is gentle with him even as she wipes the dust and debris from his neck and shoulders. The animatronic even finds himself leaning somewhat into her touch when she brings the cloth up to clean around his head and face.

What a surprisingly relaxing sensation. He never found this much comfort in cleaning himself off.

“Must feel a lot better now. Having all the gunk cleared out.” Ayala hums. She brings the cloth around to clean under his jaw, just to be thorough. He finds himself arching his head back to give her more room, unintentionally leaning back to rest his head on her shoulder as he does.

The contact is only maintained for a few seconds. But it does work to ease away the lingering tension.

“Much better.” He sighs.

He then finds himself glancing over his shoulder as the woman puts her hand on top of it.

“I’d like to have a look in the front.” Ayaka asks.

After having seen how horrible of a state he has fallen into just in terms of his head, she could only imagine how bad the other access point might be.

“... If you wish.” Jho replies.

He then shifts somewhat so that he can awkwardly lay himself back atop the table.

While he does not personally believe that he is in any further need of assistance, he certainly won’t be turning the woman away. She has been a great help to him so far, and a great comfort to him in his time of vulnerability. If there was anyone that he would trust to work on him further, then it would be her. And he would rather not wake up tomorrow to find fresh problems brought on by lack of care.

The woman made her way around to stand beside him once he was comfortable. The book came with her. She had already turned it to the needed page, detailing the inner workings of his torso.

She finds the pressure points to unlock the latch, and she opens him up.

This time around, the poor animatronic can experience the full embarrassment that comes with having the woman see the poor state of his body. Because just like her, he can see how horrible the interior of his torso looks.

Layers of thick dust and grime cling to the wires haphazardly strewn throughout his body. Frayed rubber that was meant to cover said wires sit in a tangled mess of filth. She could run her finger through it and then turn around to write on the wall, and the words would stand out clear as day.

“... Jho. I love you. But how the fuck do you still work?” Ayala comments after a long, almost stunned silence. She is legitimately surprised seeing just how... Filthy and damaged, the animatronic is on the inside. And baffled by the fact that he is still functional, despite it all.

“Uh.... I’m built different?” Jho replies, admittedly trying to make a joke to ease away the awkward tension. He could tell that Ayala wasn’t trying to judge him. She understood why it was that he had fallen into such a state of disrepair. It wasn’t as though Fazbear wanted to spend the time or money to fix something if it did not appear to be broken. And as it were, he had been able to perform his duties just fine up until now. He had also been more than happy to just let himself steadily grow worse as he went out of his way to avoid being sent to parts and services.

She understood his situation. But that absolutely did not mean that she had to be happy seeing him in such a horrible state. She wanted nothing but for him to be happy and comfortable. And it was obvious that she was now questioning just how happy and comfortable he could have possibly been while in such a horrible state.

“You must be...” The woman replied, before she began to reach across his chest.

The animatronic is quick to grab her arm. He can tell that she is trying to retrieve another can of compressed air. After her earlier coughing fit, he absolutely will not allow her to put her health at risk. Especially not for him.

“Mask.” He calmly, but sternly states, prompting the woman to roll her eyes a bit. But she does not argue. Nor does she ignore what he’s asked of her. She simply steps away from him once he lets go of his arm, and she finds a bandanna that she can wrap around her face to keep the dust out of her lungs.

Once her health is secured, he allows her to do what needs to be done.

Ayala gets started on blowing the dust and grime out of his torso. It flies out of him in a thick cloud, accompanied by clumps of debris that drift high into the air, before dropping heavily onto the floor.

It is shameful. A little embarrassing. But admittedly, it tickles a bit this time. To the point that he cannot help but squirm faintly as a little giggle escapes him.

“Jho~” Ayala lightly scolds him, though the squinting in the corners of her eyes make it clear that she is smiling underneath her bandanna. She finds his squirming amusing and can tell that he isn’t in any pain. But she still needs him to hold still so that she can work. There’s a lot of dust and she might need to go through extra canned air if he moves around too much.

“Sorry~ Sorry. It tickles~” Jho chuckles in turn, smiling up at the woman.

Honestly, this was the most pleasant that maintenance had ever been for him. He was nice and relaxed. There wasn’t any obvious discomfort. At least not any that hadn’t been there since before the repairs started. He certainly couldn’t recall a time in the past where he had laughed in the middle of being fixed up.

It was nice, not needing to be afraid. He might have to ask the woman to be the one to do repairs on him in the future, seeing as she had done such a wonderful job so far.

Eventually the dust is cleared out and the damage beneath is fully revealed. As expected, there are a lot of exposed wires. There are also a lot of frayed wires with little strands of sharp metal poking out in every which direction.

Completely unprompted, Ayala takes the time to put on some rubber gloves. Two pairs, to be specific. To reduce the likelihood of being given a jolt, but also to make it less likely that she would jab herself in the finger on one of the frayed wires.

The animatronic is glad that she goes out of her way to do this. He absolutely would have insisted on her doing so if she hadn’t decided to do it on her own. So it made him happy, seeing her make sure that she wouldn’t needlessly get hurt.

Once she’s properly gloved up, Ayala gets started on the actual repairs.

Just as before, she starts by following a singular wire so that she can determine where it leads. The connection points determine its purpose and how it is supposed to be arranged inside of him. She is careful and precise with her movements, intent on making the process as painless as it can possibly be for him.

Oddly... This is when the animatronic starts to feel strange.

Each gentle tug of a wire stirs something within him. Something familiar, and yet so incredibly foreign, given the circumstances.

It starts with a tingle.

Not in the typical unpleasant “I can’t fully feel my limb and yet sensations are being amplified” manner, that he usually associated with repairs. But in the... “I am being given sexual stimulus” sort of way, much to his disbelief.

At first, he legitimately has to convince himself that he is imagining things. Because there is no possible reason for this situation to be arousing him.

It is such an abnormal reaction that he has to clench his jaw and grip the sides of the table in order to keep from squirming. Particularly when the sensation escalates from a slight tingle to jolt.

A strong, powerful jolt not unlike the sensation of having his genitals stimulated. One that somehow is creating the illusion that all of those erogenous zones in his pelvic region are being given attention at the same time, despite the reality being that nothing is touching him at all.

He cannot help the faint whimper that escapes him as the woman works.

At first, she does not appear to notice it, because she is so engrossed in her work that she is mentally tuning out the quieter sounds of the room.

As a result, she remains oblivious to the effects that her actions are having on his body.

As she carefully works a cable out of a connection point, he clenches his fingers around the edges of the table.

When she runs her fingers along an individual cable to separate it from the clustered mess in his torso, it sends pleasant jolts coursing through him. Specifically through his pelvic region, bringing him to the point of near orgasm each time.

The jolts only get more intense when she installs a replacement cable. To the point that he knows that, if he were capable of producing his own lubricant, the table would be completely and utterly soaked between his legs.

The sensations only grow more intense the longer that she works. And it would seem that Ayala cannot help but take her sweet, sweet time.

She’s no perfectionist. At least not with matters more trivial, like sweeping or cooking. But right now, when she’s working on him? She is determined to do everything in her power to get the job done correctly.

And it is slowly driving him mad.

She’s not even halfway done by the time his voice escalates in volume. Enough so that she inevitably takes notice of the unexpected sound that had escaped him.

Her hands falter and her gaze moves from his chest compartment to his face.

He locks eyes with her. Half lidded and desperate. All the while he struggled to keep still, because her hands are still inside of him, and her fingers are still lightly clasped around a wire.

“... Does it hurt?” Ayala quietly asks. She sounds concerned, as she rightly ought to be. But she also sounds confused. Which she also has the right to be, given the unusual way that Jho is behaving.

She could not tell if the noise that escaped him was one of pain or of... Something else. But she naturally does not want to continue as she is if she is somehow hurting the animatronic. Surely there are ways for her to finish without it needing to be unpleasant.

“N-no!...” Jho groans in response.

Fuck. He was so close. If she had removed one more wire, he probably would have made a fresh mess. One that would be a little more difficult to clean up than the dust all over the floor.

A barely audible whimper escapes him as the woman’s hands shift ever so slightly inside of him. Another faint jolt rolled through him in response, adding to the unintended torture of the circumstances.

“Are you sure?... I can stop for now if you need a break.” She replies. Obviously she is starting to feel uneasy, given his strange reactions to the stimulation.

She even goes so far as to release the wire so that she can withdraw her hands.

Never before has Jho reached out to grab someone with such speed. The movement would not even properly appear on film, if the scene were to have been recorded.

“No!” He exclaims, desperation in his voice as he prevents the confused and mildly startled woman. Thankfully he realizes right away that he has come on too strong, and so he releases her from his trembling hands. “I-I’m sorry, I just... Please. Please, don’t stop.” He groans, his voice quickly transforming into a pathetic, pleading whimper as he speaks.

Regardless of the amount of shame he feels for behaving in such a way, he cannot help but beg her to keep going.

For a moment, Ayala seems hesitant. Unsure of whether or not she should comply with what he’s asked of her. But she does inevitably place her hands back inside of him so that she can resume her work.

The difference now is that she has been made acutely aware of his every reaction to what she is doing.

Every groan. Every minor twitch or tremble in response to having his wires touched, removed, and replaced. She takes notice of it, and it slows her progress even more. Thus this sweet, delicious torture is drawn out even more as the animatronic lays helplessly atop the table.

Inevitably, as Ayala replaces one of the few remaining wires, Jho reaches orgasm. And it is the most intense orgasm that he has ever experienced in his life. The sort which makes his whole body briefly spasm, as if suffering from an electrical discharge.

The woman rightly pulls her hands out of his chest as he rides out his orgasm. The 3 in 1 sort of ecstasy that cannot be described in any way, outside of complete and utter euphoria.

It is wild, intense, and bewildering in nature. Never would he have anticipated that he could achieve orgasm without being given some sort of overt sexual stimulation. Either by having his parts touched, or by getting lost in the sensation of touching someone else.

Maintenance was an entirely non-sexual situation. One that, up until now, he had only ever associated with pain and stress. Something distressing and traumatic. Not erotic and intimate, like it has so unexpectedly become.

His fans kick on in response to the intensity of his orgasm, flooding his open torso with a rush of fresh air in an attempt to better help him cool down before he can overheat.

By then, the remnants of his mind slowly flicker back into reality and take notice of the fact that Ayala is staring at him. Her flushed face and wide eyes make it clear that she has finally been made fully aware of what her actions have brought about. She is very obviously flustered, and a little unsure as to how she should react. Rightly so! Jho himself wasn’t even sure what to make of this bizarre situation, despite being the one that had just ejaculated in response to having his wires pulled.

“Uhm... Are-... Are we good, bud? All done with... Whatever the fuck that was?” Ayala squeaks out, her voice quiet and awkward due to how flustered she has become. It is the same tone that she develops when caught off guard in the midst of a sexual situation. The sort of tone that reads as “I don’t know what just happened, and I need a minute to figure out if I was into it”.

The animatronic lets out an awkward chuckle in response. One that admittedly sounds like more of a pathetic, desperate whine.

“Y-yes.” Jho replies, his voice admittedly glitching out somewhat due to the lingering effects of orgasm. He quickly does what he can to settle himself back down, so that the woman can finish replacing the few remaining wires.

Ayala, meanwhile, needs a few moments to get her mind where she needs it. She is very clearly a bit bewildered by what just happened. Not disgusted, mind you. Just obviously caught off guard by this unexpected turn of events.

Within a couple of minutes, she is fine to pick up where she left off.

All that she needs to do now is replace the few remaining wires, and then attach the proper restraints to keep them secure and organized.

It is obvious that she’s a little distracted, though. For as gentle and precise as her touch remains, there is the faintest tremble in her hands. A slight hesitation in her every touch. Shy and awkward from the inexperience, but eager to get the job done, and to get it done well.

Having already had his otherworldly orgasm, Jho is able to hold relatively still for her. Though now that she is aware of how aroused this situation has made him, he has no intention of hiding the fact that her efforts are affecting him.

“I am going to ravish you.” He murmurs as he watches her work, his voice deeper and more hungry than it has ever been before. To which he hears her squeak out a flustered “Oh?!” in response.

The pleasant jolts resume as she finishes up with her task. Not because of her tugging at his wires; though that still plays a part; but because he is able to clearly see the tremble of anticipation that rolls through her in response to his promise.

She has thoroughly but unintentionally gotten under his metaphorical skin, and he has every intention to repay her in kind.

Not just to pay her for that delightful orgasm that she gave him, but to thank her for the tender love and care that she has shown him throughout what would otherwise have been a nerve-wracking experience.

Eventually, the maintenance reaches its conclusion and she closes him up with gentle, trembling hands. At which point he sits himself back up and impulsively reaches for her, eager to savor the delights of her soft, human body.

He can hear her breath hitch in her throat as he tugs her closer for a kiss. Slow, and intimate.

He keeps his eyes open and locked on her expression as his mouth dances against hers.

She’s so cute when she gets flustered. So adorable and bashful when he lightly drags the tip of his tongue against hers. Instinctively shy and too embarrassed to hold his gaze, despite being unable to keep from locking eyes with him every so often. Which only manages to rile him up further.

He breaks the kiss to taste her skin.

His tongue lightly glides along her cheek, towards her ear. He knows that her ears are sensitive. So he takes a moment to indulge by gently licking the shell of her ear, before carefully nibbling on the lobe.

She trembles in response. Not from fear, but from an inability to keep still as his antics rile her up in turn.

Once her ear has been left damp and pink from the stimulation, he moves downwards to her neck. He wraps his arms around her tighter as he practically creates a collar with his tongue.

Her skin is so soft and delicate. Especially when compared to his body. He adores how malleable it is.

The faintest of growls escapes him as he mouths her neck.

Not a threatening growl. But a growl of arousal in response to movement. He can feel her subconsciously grinding herself against him as he decorates her neck in marks of his affection.

He can’t tell if she’s wet, or if the ejaculate from his earlier orgasm is just adding to the sensation.

Either way, her clothing has become something of an annoyance. He wants to feel her skin. He wants to spoil and treasure her body just as she did with him throughout his maintenance.

These clothes need to go. And they need to change locations. He won’t be laying her down on this dusty table.

“Jho!?” A quiet, startled squeak of his name escapes her as he unexpectedly adjusts his arms to hold her against him while he stands.

He comforts her with an affectionate nuzzle as he makes a beeline towards his personal workbench.

It is a bit cluttered, but he otherwise keeps it nice and clean. There will be more than enough room for him to sit her down and worship her the way that she deserves.

She squeaks again as he sets her down.

The surface of the workbench is cold and startling against her bare rump. He has wasted no time in working her out of these annoying clothes as he places her upon her temporary throne.

Startled as she is, she clearly understands the game plan.

As he works her pants and underwear down her legs, she responds in kind by working herself out of her shirt and bra.

He gently scrapes his teeth against the skin of her knee as he kneels to get her fully freed of her clothing. In his haste, he had nearly forgotten about her shoes. But he takes the time to properly untie the laces so that he can slide them off, and he stuffs her socks inside of each shoe so that they cannot lose them in the chaos.

Once her lower half is bare, he cannot help but take a moment to admire her legs.

Slender and soft. Her thighs have a fair amount of meat to them, compared to the rest of her. He gently works his way between her legs and encourages her to squeeze his head between them. Just enough for her thighs to flatten against his metal cheeks.

He loves the way she feels.

Once he is done indulging in the feel and weight of her thighs, he coaxes her legs apart so that he can better indulge in another of his favorite pleasures.

She’s already nice and wet. Her skin is nicely flushed with arousal.

Beautiful. But he can make it more so.

He makes a show of getting ready. She isn’t afraid of his dangerous looking maw, and so he takes advantage of the fact to better arouse her. He opens wide and allows his tongue to snake out of his mouth, all the while maintaining eye contact.

He can feel her tremble with anticipation.

She leans back somewhat and spreads her legs further for him, inviting him to spoil her just as he deems fit.

Still, he cannot help but tease.

Gently, he scrapes his teeth against her inner thighs. She spreads her legs even further, silently pleading with him to hurry up and taste her properly.

He works his tongue along the inside of one thigh, lapping up the thin layer of sweat that formed at some point throughout the day. He cleans her thigh all the way up to the very edge of her vulva, before abruptly withdrawing so that he can repeat the process on her other thigh.

Ayala whines. She squirms. She bites the inside of her lip and lets her head fall back as a delighted tremble takes hold of her when he licks that sweet spot near her pelvis.

Once he’s thoroughly enjoyed the taste of her thighs, he gives her what she’s been waiting for.

He brings his hands up behind her legs to them around her hips. As he does so, he presses his face fully between her legs.

A delighted gasp escapes her as he drags the full length of his tongue between her folds.

He can feel her tremble against his tongue.

Unable to help himself, he lightly nibbles on the delicate skin protecting her clitoris. Just to coax it out of the way so that he can properly stimulate that sensitive little lump.

“God~!... Jho~...” Ayala sweetly mewls his name as he eats.

He purrs in response, giving her his usual loving look as he curls his tongue to usher it inside of her.

He fucks her with his tongue. There is no better descriptor.

He presses it in as deeply as he can and withdraws it time and time again. Sometimes fast. Sometimes slow. Sometimes he adjusts the positioning of his tongue so that he can drag it along her exposed clitoris as he sucks it out of her vagina canal.

She gasps. She moans. She squirms in his hold and desperately places a hand on the back of his head just to find some sort of support.

Wet, loud, and messy. The evidence of this adventure will undoubtedly leave a stain on the surface of his workbench, and he will gaze upon it fondly whenever a bad day has left him sour.

He works her gently to each orgasm.

Some hit her slowly, but with intensity. Others hit her quickly, but subtly. He moans at the feel of her inner walls spasming dramatically around his tongue regardless.

Neither of them keep track of how many orgasms she has. There is only the delight of the peak and the excitement of building back to it.

He withdraws his tongue to bring the oral adventure to a close only when she meekly strums the back of his head.

The “safe word”. The sign that she has gotten overwhelmed and needs time to settle back down before they continue.

Gentle kisses are placed on her thigh while he waits for her to move her hand so that he can stand up.

He places additional soft kisses along one side of her body once he is given the room to move. A trail of wet kisses form a path all the way up to the nape of her neck.

One there, he brings his hands up to gently cradle her face.

The poor girl really did get worked up.

He affectionately presses his forehead against hers as he thumbs her tears away.

She’ll be fine. He overwhelmed her with the pleasure. Nothing more. She just needs a few moments to catch her breath and settle back down.

In the meantime, he is more than happy to wait. He enjoys cuddling with her just as much if not more than he enjoys working her to orgasm. So he has absolutely no issue showering her face in kisses or just holding her while she calms down.

When she is ready to continue, she tentatively wraps her legs around his hips to guide him closer to her.

No more oral. No more teasing. As much as she enjoys it, she wants him to feel good right along with her.

Another light growl escapes him as he ushers her closer to him. He reaches down to guide her hips with his hands, encouraging her to lay back just a bit more to give him the room to lock their bodies.

One hand moves around to press against the small of her back. The other wraps around to support behind her shoulders as he leans forward and encourages her to lay back.

He nuzzles the top of her head as he closes the distance between their bodies.

Ayala gasp proves all the sweeter as he slips inside with ease. She’s so warm and slick, delightfully so.

“A-Ayala~” He quietly moans her name as he begins to rock his hips against hers.

It's faztastic, being with her like this.

The needy whimper of her moans. The trembling of her body as he guides her through this R rated dance. The heat of her body. The dampness of her breath. The slick, yet perfectly sticky feel of her insides swallowing him up.

Wonderful. Addictive, even.

He cannot help but kiss her. Touch her. Cradle her against him as they ride out their shared orgasms.

The stains that they’ll leave on his workbench will never wash out, and he doesn’t care in the slightest.

In fact, he welcomes the stains as a reminder of these newly created, positive memories.

Memories that will remind him of more than just the pleasure. They will remind him of the intimacy of the moment, and of the relief he felt when she first stepped through the door to rescue him from his plight.

Memories of her tender touches, and the care that she put into helping him in his time of vulnerability.

Memories of the first time that being repaired had ever made him feel fixed.

She fixed him, and she did so in more ways than she could ever realize.

He loves her for that.

[cult-of-the-placeholder]

Uhhhh so. I can't draw, so please don't throw rocks at me 😅 is anyone gonna see this? DUNNO. But I'm throwing it into the void anyway

Behold: 4 cute babies for me to traumatize with my War on the Lamb AU

This AU wouldn't exist without @heketsbroodau and their amazing fics. Go read them! Literally right now! All of them! Every single one!!!!!!!

The general idea this WotL AU works with goes as follows:

- The demigod children of the bishops (cousins), quailing and listless in the wake of their parents' slaughter, decide to counter attack and wage war on the lamb for ruining their lives and killing the family they loved so dearly

- In each brood, one was voted amongst the siblings to take up the Crowns to use their power to lead the vengeance quest (because the crowns are at least partially sentient, I imagine that they vanished when their bearers died to keep themselves from being ceased)

- The children have mostly been raising themselves since the lamb destroyed... literally everything

- They're planning to essentially use one of themselves as a sacrifice: taking up the Red Crown and agreeing to be locked away in eternal banishment to prevent it from ever causing trouble and strife again

Though their ages when each Bishop died varies, they are in order: Adami, Ylindri, Phereo, and finally No Name. When Shamura dies, their ages go as follows: 19 (Adami), 14 (Ylindri), 12 (Phereo), No Name (9). When the story kicks off they'll all likely be in their 20s but I haven't decided fully yet.

Adami:

As the oldest amongst the cousins, she feels it is the duty of her and her siblings to look after the younger ones. She loves them all very much, every, single, one. She and her dad were really close, and though she didn't have his aptitude for magic she was a born scientist at heart. She was always tucked away in the temple labs, fussing with bacteria cultures and scribbling in her notebooks. Thoroughly enjoyed Kallamar's genetics hobby, and still has the the very first genome they ever wrote together memorized

When he died, she and her siblings all felt it. They heard the commotion and tried so, so hard to get to him, but Kallamar had cast a magic ward on the temple's inner sanctum, preventing his children from entering or even coming near, not trusting that Narinder's appetite for destruction wouldn't extend to his little ones. He was right, and only after he'd been dead for several hours did the barrier fade

Adami wrote her own speech for his funeral but was crying too hard to deliver it, so it fell to her older sibling to speak on her behalf. She was very much a daddy's girl, and prays at his shrine almost every day, wishing for a peaceful afterlife for him, begging her uncle to be kind (though she knows he won't be)

She splits the Blue Crown with one of her siblings: she's the best scientific mind they've got and is therefore excellent for inflicting biowarfare, but she's got -3 magical ability and so whenever there's need for mass healing or protective magic, it goes to her sibling

Would've probably become a very sweet, bubbly person if not for losing Kallamar. She's a lot more reserved these days, but is still generally pretty peppy when excited about something

Ylindri:

As mentioned above she's the most unbalanced of Shamura's children: meaning, while their domain is wisdom and war, she skewed heavily toward the first one. The majority of the spiderlings (eleven of them in total) are right in the middle, wielding their brains and brawn as one. There's only one other severe skew like Ylindri: her older sister, who's very skewed toward war

A scholar first and foremost, she spent countless days studying medicine and old divine texts trying to find a way to help her Lifegiver's brain damage. She regularly helped change their bandages

Worried they might forget them all, Ylindri wove her Lifegiver a special band of spider silk, which each of their names and a prayer for health delicately woven in. Her hope was that their love would stay with Shamura easier, and might help them feel better. Shamura wears it on their 4th wrist

In public Ylindri calls Shamura her Lifegiver, in private they are Ama

Very softspoken, and thoroughly heartbroken by Shamura's death. Tried to stop them from going to meet the lamb in the sanctum, but their mind had slipped again and Shamura didn't truly recognize her in that moment

Phereo:

Leshy's thirdborn child and second daughter. Is the only girl to have wings but has sworn off flying after Leshy's death

They were really close, and Leshy actually died while the children were in their first chrysallis (they're demigodlings. They undergo multiple metamorphoses in their lives), so when she emerged she and her siblings were greeted by the sorrowful Witness and the earth-shattering news that they had been orphaned

They preserved Leshy's remains so that his childreb could attend the funeral, but Phereo didn't go. She couldn't bear the thought. She was so terrified to make her chrysallis because everyone knows that girls don't have wings, and the only thing that got her to start spinning was her father's promise to be ready to recieve her when she'd emerged, and the whispered secret of, "You're just as I was. You'll be fine." After that, she doesn't want to appear in public, doesn't want anyone to see her, and spends all her time locked in her room mourning the loss of Leshy

She's got hardcore depression in wake of her dad's death. Everything is unstable and scary and she feels so lost and out of sorts. Years pass and her mental health stabilizes but doesn't improve: when the cousins start planning their war and how to defeat the Red Crown for good, she offers her body to the cause. She'll hsve to be banished and locked away, for all eternity. If it will avenge Leshy's death and let her go to a place where she can forget that she exists, then she's happy to do it

Someone get this worm therapy smh

No Name:

Someone seriously help me name him I've gone through like 5 names and none feel right 😭

The smallest, height wise and age wise. He hates it

This froggy is a MAMA'S BOY. He was very, very close with Heket, and loved her more than life itself. She was his mother, after all--there was no one in the world he loved more. The whole gaggle of froglets found Heket's still cooling corpse in the Temple sanctum, and just. Basically did Simba and mufasa. Just kinda snuggled against her and begged her to get up, to heal, to be ok

I don't have a whooole lot of development for him but he's generally pretty quiet and brooding. Very angy. Late teenage angst when thebwar starts but also his mom was murdered by the guy they're waging war on so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Regardless. He's not having a good time. Eats his feelings a lot and is quietly hoping the war kills him

Was voted among his siblings to bear the Yellow Crown and he despises it. It feels so wrong, like the desecration of his mother's memory, to have him stand in her place and wear that which rightfully belongs to her and no one else. Prays to the crown every morning before he puts it on, asking his mother's forgiveness and hoping to serve her memory well

[anulithots]

hey! this is chance & here’s week 2's prompt. when you write or create an oc, do you like to reference elements from your life? if yes, name a few. if no, why not?

heh. heh. hehehehe.

What DON'T I reference from my life? It's my personal opinion that storytelling is meant to explore this strange thing called existence, and I'm not aware of other's perspectives, so what else can I use but my own life?

Anuli is supposed to be the parts of me that are "absent-minded, constantly overthinking, storytelling, and seeming self-centered due to the hyper fixations on storytelling." Faer whole purpose is to tell myself that I don't have to give up my joys in order to live my life, and it's okay to be the way I am. Along with just processing general feelings such as - "not wanting to be trusted because we will eventually make a mistake that ruins things." "anger about being interrupted from current endeavors, even though you KNOW that its not that big of a deal."

Also also, it's my goal to never use a feeling description word. (unease, discomfort, grief, sadness, surprise, etc. etc.) Because neither of us can put our strange abstract feelings into words. So I like to use metaphors, it may make Anuli seem overdramatic (feedback from family members) but to me, it's an accurate description of feelings.

ANNNDD the pixies.

They are based off the "four parts of brain" theory from a podcast we were listening to in the car.

(they all used to be one being but separated a few years ago, although their collective identity is still fluid. )

I try not to base the other characters off my family members, because I do not fully understand their internal reasoning, so I don't think it would be genuine enough. But I do steal little quirks and phrases.

For Maidoe, it's a love for the stars and the uncanny ability to find anything.... and a weird knack for predicting the future (this isn't an actual magic power, just a lot of hunches that tend to work out)

For Kamari, it's a few phrases from my parents and the love for songs and music from my youngest sibling (the chaotic lots of noise with a "parent'-esque" character is an archetype I want to try out.)

Thanks for the prompt <3 I really like this one.