#and i know that in my original tag the “or” there does mean it's not necessarily ace

[nenoname]

stan twins the canon cptsd brothers i will always think about all your unaddressed issues that would make perfect plot fuel for your spinoff

and also the whole 'stan getting that poem by bill via a website which contrasts with bill getting one from the axolotl via a website' foreshadowing thing

like idk i would love something like su future but like more optimistic, aka not an accumulated breakdown that has to be mostly resolved off screen at the end :/// but something thats being kinda addressed throughout? (although would love to see one of them turn into a monster thats always fun lol)

stan having severe issues from his dad and those years of being homeless that we keep on getting more info on but never really getting confronted on (the drifter catalogue and tijuana incident...), him being completely alone for like twenty years when running the shack before soos comes along to the point that 1998 is noted as his low point, and him not really learning about bill+what he did to ford until ages after he killed him if he ever did get the full context

while i think amnesia and everyone seeing him as a hero actually helped with stan's 'i'm a worse version of my brother' thing its still a lingering issue too and we now got him being insecure over his own hands

ford being immediately thrown from 'being tortured by bill' to 'being stuck in the multiverse and being chased by bounty hunters constantly', him fully expecting himself to die when destroying bill, and him only now being safe for the first time in 30 years ....relatively safe, he's still in constant danger because of course he is

idk in the end the series wants them to be happy and they deserve it, its why i wasn't too worried about the book being like 'ooh bill is back!! and the book is haunting ford' thing cos i knew they'll be ok

[nightmarearian]

blood dripped from Poseidon's mouth, red.

red.

the day they overthrew Kronos, child-eater (stomach acid crawling around them, after maw of teeth grazing his small, child body), his golden ichor bled red.

god blood, degraded into a mortal's.

the day Typhon, father of monsters (as big as their father was, as big as the Titans with sharp claws and teeth) ripped out Zeus' tendons, his blood was red.

Poseidon, god of the tides, son of Kronos, looked up at the dark shape stood above him, his own golden trident in his hand, the teeth like prongs drenched in red.

Odysseus is a mortal. was a human.

sharp webbed ears spread out on the side of their head, scales grew around their neck and arms, shining like a coral reef, illuminated by their growing red eyes, that were shrunken to slits.

Odysseus' teeth glinted in the lightning, showing their unnaturally sharp point.

monster.

[odo-apologist]

I have things I should be working on but I'm too busy wondering what a Low or High Kochanski would be like

[arrozconlecheeee]

Lately been really thinking about him a lot❄️

[moeblob]

A succubus and a demon! (The succubi don't have names but the demon is Kronos and the succubus is one of his bosses in Hell and he's not /fond/ of the succubi for many reasons but they all adore picking on him)

Also because I love them and like to point it out, the succubi act more as pleasure dealers in the sense of they offer up whatever a human wants most in exchange for their soul. It's rarely of a sexual nature since it's what they want MOST in life. And most people's ambitions are outside of a bedroom. (happy pride, asexuals are able to get affected by a succubus now without discrimination)

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

‘The timeless child means that river would have to be Amy and the doctors daughter’

Hey, hey come here, I have something to tell you. Ignore the hammer

[faithfromanewperspective]

what’s there not to understand about hypomania? you know when you get overtired, and like a toddler, you get all hyperactive and also want to cry or do Every Fun Thing you can think of and it actually becomes harder to sleep? like as a result of too much overwhelm or being so emotionally exhausted that’s how your body makes you able to cope, the aftereffects of too much adrenaline? just imagine being stuck like that. and every day it triggers itself more, overload of emotional whiplash and energy and you’ve lost all ability to think rationally and you can do anything at this point, because why not? you’ve got nothing left in you to hold back on any idea that could be exciting and stop you from falling into the void where the wiredness you feel has nothing to latch onto to burn off that nervous energy in a positive way, emotionally. for days or weeks or months on end. you don’t need to have ever experienced this fully to extrapolate and be like. yeah. I can see how it would suck eventually to get stuck like that

[yayforocs]

👉👈 so @silverskye13 i saw this and..............

had to make an aron helsmet!!!!!! this was really hecking fun to think about actually like what she'd be like n design (which. is a poke at the rp server she was from actually) and also made me sit down and think more on my other minecraft ocs i have sittin around and why they ended up getting redesigns lkdsfh BUT YEAH i!!!!!!!! aron!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[al-luviec]

still haven't moved on from zane in this episode (aka I hit tag limit again and am unhappy about it)

[butterflieswhisper]

tori sitting on the stairs is so. the lighting in heartstopper is awesome big fan of the blue/orange. is tori also depressed in the show i still think it would be so fucking funny to offhandedly mention her school burning down

[benevolenterrancy]

hi! I recently came across your tgcf fics, and I wanted to say you’re a phenomenal creator. the recovery series fic and the gloves fic and just all of them. thank you for your content and great attention to detail.

do you have any thoughts/hcs on FXMQ and Xie Lian you’d be willing to share? within the original story or the universes of your fics!

Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying them! (ﾉ*^▽^*)ﾉ.｡:*☆

hmm, random thoughts about the FXMQ... a silly headcanon: Feng Xin has very much been hoisted by his own petard by heckling Mu Qing! That is to say, he'll harass Mu Qing relentlessly about something stupid only to be confronted with a similar situation and realise that there's absolutely NO way he can act in anyway similar to Mu Qing or he'll never hear the end of it.

(For example, he has tolerated some truly atrocious divine statues in the past because he's heckled Mu Qing so much about how picky he is with his divine statues that there's no WAY he can say ANYTHING without seeing that smug bastard's face in his head so he just has to bite his tongue and tolerate some unspeakably ugly statues.)

Mu Qing doesn't generally suffer from similar overthinking (he'll just prepare to kick FX's ass if he dares to say anything about it) except for things more directly related to himself. I think he genuinely finds sewing/embroidery/etc rather relaxing work but he'd rather die than have anyone ever see him do it because he's made such a big deal about not doing that sort of "servant" work anymore.

(He actually really enjoyed stitching Ruoye back together because it gave him the perfect excuse -- he's returning a favour!! and Xie Lian is hopeless!! of course he had to!! -- and he secretly considered using white thread to embroider some invisible little designs just because he doesn't quite want to stop... only he knew he'd get caught if he messed with Xie Lian's spiritual device like that and gave up the idea)

[morocosmos]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 11 - Surrogate

Masterlist Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Pairings: Leofard Myste & Warrior of Light Rating: Teen & Up Additional Notes: Takes place at during HW patch 3.5. Major spoilers for the Shadow of Mhach alliance raid questline. Ao3 Link

Lady Raimille. The picture painted by Stacia's tale was everything an orphaned child could want from a parent. Everything except that she'd passed on too soon — but not before giving her foster son one last gift.

The noblewoman’s real portrait hung above them, enshrined in Leofard’s quarters. Presiding over his affairs and his family; watching over the man himself. Moro'a knew that paintings like this cost a considerable sum to commission, and that taking care of them required specific knowledge and attention; unexpected obligations for a sky pirate. 

But the painting gleamed, immaculately free of blemishes. “I had wondered as to the origin of his vessel's naming,” Cait Sith said softly, his voice touched with emotion. “‘Tis a most beautiful painting.”

Moro’a’s time in Ishgard had also taught him that portraits like this one were made to memorialise — a likeness captured in brushstrokes, preserved from time. Remember me as I was, in this moment. Remember what this person means to us. Situated where their loved ones could gaze upon them, and never forget.

I doubt I'll ever feel worthy to sit where he sat.

Throughout their adventures, Leofard had pretended as though the portrait wasn’t there, and it was all Moro’a had needed to know not to bring it up. He’d accepted it without judgement, without ever considering otherwise. What was he here for, if not to hide from ghosts and broken hearts; from memory?

But now that Stacia had told them what Leofard would never impart himself, the pieces that made up the leader of the Redbills had finally begun to click: why a man who prized freedom so highly would build his new home a stone's throw from the Holy See, and why the loss of his airship had made Leofard retreat into himself, like a creature seeking familiar refuge. 

It seems she kept him safe until the very end, Utata had said, and Moro’a’s heart had clenched so tight that he thought it might shatter.

It wasn’t any of his business. The voidsent had been stopped, and Cait Sith had found a new home. His time with the Redbills was coming to a close. It’d been an engaging distraction, which was precisely what Moro’a had needed; there were no stones left to overturn, no more accidental revelations to be had. He would go his separate way, into the unknown, and then…

Later, as he was stowing the few essentials he’d brought into the manacutter, Moro’a heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Leofard, who was already dressed in a clean set of clothes and red-tinted goggles. “I almost forgot,” the sky pirate said, as breezy as could be now as he held something out in his hand. A Redbill scarf.

“You didn’t have to,” Moro’a murmured, feeling a strange mixture of reluctance and guilt. 

“And I say otherwise, Warrior. I reckon you’ve done more than you’ll ever need to to have earned this.” His hand stretched closer, and Moro’a considered refusing. He was ready to quit this place, to move on. I’m not who you think I am, he wanted to say. 

Instead he found himself reaching out for the scarf, and tucking it in with the rest of his things.

If, after he'd said his farewells, his hand reached under the collar of his shirt to gently hold the necklace that rested against his chest, to remember, he was the only one who needed to know.

[blastlight]

every so often i think about how if i ever make a post or something that blows up, i'll immediately be harassed en masse by people claiming i'm a zionist

[herearedragons]

The Warden's New Clothes

As the glow of the healing spell subsides and Wynne removes her hands from the injury, Kyana dares to glance at her side once again. What was a miserable sight mere moments ago is now a perfectly healthy patch of skin, no trace of the burns left on her torso or left arm.

It’s not the first time she wishes Wynne had been there when they climbed the tower of Ishal.

There is, however, a problem remaining. Where skin can be fixed, fabric not so much; the remains of her sleeve are hanging in sorry tatters and the state of the left side of her robe is definitely indecent. Adding insult to injury, the enchantment has evaporated from the garment, the fabric hanging heavier and colder than usual.

“Blast it,” Kyana murmurs - and startles, suddenly remembering that Wynne is still there. Have her manners spoiled so much that she curses at a senior enchanter without a second thought?

To her relief and wonder, Wynne does not express any disapproval, simply nodding:

“We should get you changed. Boys - “ the enchanter steps out of the corner they had retired to so that she could heal Kyana with some privacy - “One of you should go back to the mages’ quarters, see if there are any clothes intact in the wardrobes. We need a new set of robes, as close to Kyana’s size as you can get.”

It’s a strange experience, hearing Wynne give out orders to… yes, to her team; Kyana has to admit to herself that she has come to view them as such. Even Zevran, new as he is to the group. He had sworn his loyalty to her, personally; surely that counts for something?

Speaking of the assassin - it’s his voice that she hears answering Wynne.

“What about this one? There’s barely any blood on it - “

“Maker, ew. Really?”

The second voice is Alistair. At that point, Kyana decides to see what the fuss is about and joins the rest, holding the left side of her robe together with her hand.

The scene which appears before her is self-explanatory. Zevran is pointing at a corpse on the ground. Wynne and Alistair are looking upon it disapprovingly.

The body belongs to the blood mage they just fought. Her clothes are… unusual, definitely not of the Circle, and yet familiar. It takes Kyana a moment to place the image, but then she remembers: the vault. There was definitely a robe of a similar design in there, hanging in a glass case. Was it the same one, or just a similar item? Either way, if she’s right, it’s old, it’s from Tevinter, and it probably bears a powerful enchantment.

Kyana reaches for her magic, just slightly, but enough to confirm one half of her theory: the dead woman’s robe is very enchanted.

She definitely wants it now.

“Zevran is right,” she says. “We don’t have time to search the rooms. This will do.”

With that, she begins to direct her magic further. The force of telekinesis lifts the body up from the ground; Kyana lets it rotate mid-air for a few moments, getting a feel for the object she’s about to manipulate. Then, the same telekinetic force begins undoing buttons, buckles and clips, pulling elements of clothing off of the corpse. 

Part of her is glad that Wynne is watching; she’s been honing her precision telekinesis for a while. Nobody in the camp, not even Morrigan, seemed to appreciate it much - but, surely, the senior enchanter understands the work that has gone into this.

Another part of her wonders whether she’s supposed to be more hesitant to undress a dead body, but it’s not a very useful thought, and she lets it go fairly quickly.

If Kyana had to guess, she would say that the whole process takes less than two minutes; definitely less time than it would require to search the living quarters again.  

The new robe fits tighter than the Circle one, mostly due to panels of some stiff material sewn into it in several places. It's definitely more restricting, though Kyana finds that she doesn't mind that much; it feels almost like wearing armor, or, at least, what she imagines wearing armor feels like.

It is strange, though. She somehow feels more dressed than she ever was before; the Circle robes were so familiar that they were almost a part of her, but this... this is alien, a tangible barrier between her and the rest of the world.

“Well… You know, it is quite pretty,” Alistair says. “It’d be even prettier if I could unsee you taking it off of a corpse.”

“Shall I remind you where your armor came from?” Kyana asks dryly.

“That’s different! The armor’s not touching my skin. Also, I cleaned it before putting it on.”

“I also cleaned it! Who do you think I am?”

Alistair raises an eyebrow.

“Cleaned how?”

“Magic.”

“Well, I hope those spells were effective, because otherwise - that’s pretty gross.”

“If I may, Warden,” Zevran pipes up, “Please do not take this the wrong way, but… may I have your old clothes?”

Alistair gives him a look.

“Is there a right way to take this?”

There seems to be some kind of lewd joke implied - she’s been getting better at noticing those kinds of things - but presently, Kyana doesn’t have time to unpack the exact meaning of it. If Zevran wants the rags, he can have them. 

She uses a small burst of telekinetic force to pick up the robes and toss them to the assassin.

“Many thanks,” he says.

The sound of tearing fabric follows immediately after. It takes her a moment to understand what he’s doing, but when Zevran tears a narrow strip of fabric from the robe and starts wrapping it around his right hand, Kyana finally notices:

“Your gloves are ruined.”

They’re in a similar state to her old robe; the top part is almost entirely burned away. Was he the one to finish off the Rage demon? Likely so, considering the singe marks on his arms and the rest of his armor.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Zevran says. “If you see nice leather gloves on someone here, do let me know.”

He finishes securing the remains of his right glove to his hand and prepares to tear off another strip of fabric.

“…Wait.”

Kyana opens one of the pouches on her belt. There, nestled alongside a few healing potions, is a rolled-up pair of leather gloves.

“Here.” She holds them out. “I bought these a while ago, but didn’t end up wearing them that much. They’re warm, but not that good for spellcasting.”

Zevran stops mid-tear.

“You’re… giving me gloves?”

“Well, I don’t use them. Do you not want them?”

“No, no - I did not mean to sound ungrateful. I’ll take them.”

As he approaches to collect the gloves, something about them seems to catch his attention; Zevran lingers for a moment before finally taking them from her hand.

“These are Dalish, are they not?” he asks.

“Yes. I bought them from a Dalish craftsman.”

Zevran turns the gloves in his hands, runs his thumb along one of the stitches - appreciating the craftsmanship, maybe?

“No one has simply… given me a gift before,” he says finally. “I shall treasure these. Thank you.”

It didn’t occur to her to think of it as a gift, but technically, he’s correct.

It’s just as well. If they’re of a better use to Zevran than to her, he should have them.

“It’s nothing,” Kyana says. “I hope they fit.”

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

meadowsweet

[ereborne]

Anyone who has ever received a package from me had better know themselves loved