#and quite possibly some oversights.

[tjerra14]

really wish I had more time for individual patients sometimes

[orteil42]

Cookie Clicker turns 10 today! Having outlived our enemies, let us celebrate with a fresh batch of announcements!

🍪First of all, Cookie Clicker is 40% off on Steam this week! The perfect gift for your loved and/or hated ones! (the web version is still free forever but you don't get Steam achievements or music by C418!)

🍪Secondly! The mobile version has been lagging behind the browser game for years and is in dire need of an update. I've been dedicating most of my time recently to bringing its content up to par! Here's a progress report:

Compared to the current version, this update adds back 284 upgrades and 179 achievements from the web game, which leaves 83 upgrades and 94 achievements still unimplemented plus a good amount of heavenly upgrades. I am determined to close that gap!

Seasons and the pet dragon are currently partially implemented. These are complicated, compound features with side-effects in all kinds of places so once the update gets an alpha release I'll likely be needing everyone's help to hunt for bugs and oversights. I'm being as thorough as possible but there's no way I didn't forget some obscure interplay somewhere!

I'm also updating the UI! Cookie Clicker's interface makes heavy use of woodwork, which is largely absent from the mobile version; I've been aiming to bring it back. Rather than recycling desktop assets, I'm looking to push the game's visual identity towards less "plain wooden boards" and more "victorian biscuit shop" (something I'd have liked to go for when I first made the game but didn't quite know how yet). Here's some early screenshots!

I'm using Blender for the new assets, I might make a more in-depth post about my process in the future. Please note that these are experimental and I'm still fiddling with the look! Once I'm happy with it I'll ideally be giving the desktop game a similar makeover.

This update will hopefully come out later this year and will likely involve multiple rounds of alpha. Once stable, future updates will focus on adding sugar lumps and as many of the minigames as possible.

🍪Thirdly: the Makeship grandma plushie is real and we're doing a giveaway! Please read this twitter post to enter. Note that if the launch campaign succeeds we've got other plushies in mind! Maybe a wrinkler?

🍪Fourthly - there was going to be a really cool announcement here but I've been informed I'm not yet at liberty to discuss it. It's sooooo cool tho trust me. things happening. u gotta take my word for it. tune in next time

🍪Lastly:

i've got enough dough for like, idk 50 more? mom's recipe. white+dark+milk chocolate. they're very good thank you

PS. thank you for playing with us all these years! odds are some of you reading this have been here since the very start. that's mad to think about! Opti and I couldn't have done this for 10 whole years without all of you hyping us up. i want to see if we can do 10 more. get real freaky with it

[vln-vibes]

Heroes Hunted

(I need to finish my other fics before thinking of others Q^Q)

Basically we've seen quite a few Danny getting hunted down by the GIW and ending up in Gotham resulting in him warning certain Bats (mainly just Jason) that hes in danger as well--- but what if the GIW decided to target 'smaller fish' in order to train themselves against Phantom; their main target.

Unfortunately Team Phantom is too busy trying to keep the calm around Amity Park and don't realize it until they're too late.

The JL never see them coming.

The Bats are frantically looking for what should be their literal assassin trained Robin, Red Hood and Black Bat.

Supers are flying around the area looking for any trace of Supergirl and Superboy (I). Not even Tim's trackers on Conner show anything (just like the ones he had on his fellow Bats).

Arrows had sent Green Arrow and Arsenal to help with the search of the Bats, Roy leaving Lian behind with Dinah, only to drop off the face of the Earth.

The Flash, Blue Beetle and Hawkwoman are all reported as MIA.

An Emergency Meeting is announced and trying to get into contact with all the other fellow heroes. Some were known to be off planet but there were a few who'd failed to respond at all...

Batman is the first to realize a common factor to all those who've disappeared as most had concluded something or someone was targeting heroes.

They'd all died.

Diana was the one to bring forward worst news; the hunt wasn't done.

Impulse, Red Robin, Cyborg, Hawkman, Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman herself were possible targets as well.

Cyborg was able to recover and corrupted and dropped emergency call from Barry "Those weirdos in white from earlier are attacking downtown, could use some backup asap. Something about Anti-Ecto Acts or whate-- Hey! Ugh"

A shiver went down their spines as they collectively told stories about spotting men in white suits walk around their cities. Some had brushed them off whilst others had kept tabs but the guys seemed to have lost interest and left.

It was a terrible oversight.

"Looks like some assholes are digging their noses into my turf, gonna stake them out tonight" Jason had told Bruce the last night they'd seen each other, "My guys they were wearing white suits, terrible choice for Crime Alley or Gotham"

Red Hood had said he didn't need backup as he would just gather intel, still that was also the night Black Bat and Robin were paired for patrol and she'd indicated she'd check in on him before the end of the night. The three never got to call in for the night.

Oracle had informed him that Red Hood's helmet had detonated, fortunately without him in it, its location the last place his children had pinged in the scanners.

The only audio they managed to recover from the device was "---Control Act, Article 1, Subse---Under Arrest---Questioning... And experimenting lots---"

Oracle had finally found the 'Anti-Ecto Acts', formally known as the Federal Anti-Ecto Control Act hidden along laws against the privatization of new green energy sources; Anything that was made off of or produced this so called 'ectoplasm' was to be handed over to the federal government's Ghost Investigation Ward for imprisonment, experimentation and finally termination.

"What the hell even is ectoplasm?"

"Its the source of all ghosts" Zatanna spoke up, repulsion clear as she read and reread the acts words, "Their body and souls are made up of the energy much like atoms make up all things in the physical world. The energy of the dead"

"According to these documents" Red Robin pulled up a research paper around two decades old from some students of the University of Wisconsin, "Ectoentities or ghosts are unfeeling, nonsentient echoes of their formerly living selves. They'd even theorized a means to access their home dimension they call the Ghost Zone"

"Ghost are made of bloody emotions" Constantine rolled his eyes "What kind of idiot would think otherwise? And don't get me started on a 'home dimension'--unless?"

"John, you don't think?"

"I sure as bloody hell hope not"

"The Infinite Realms!?"

Which only proved the situation more dire; a potential for a dimension that glued the multiverse and their afterlives, whose beings all had potential of rivaling the strength of a Super when provoked, their noted territorial nature making that a given if a portal happened upon them.

They were on a ticking time bomb to rescue their fellow heroes but they didn't even know where to start. Luckily they weren't the Justice League for nothing---

Potential locations scouted, teams made and buddy systems enacted for those potentially targeted.

Batman and his team headed to Amity Park to check on the three researchers of those papers-- Madeline Walker, Jack Fenton and Vladimir Masters. Background search revealed that Madeline and Jack had gotten married and had two children Jasmine and Daniel.

It wasn't until they crossed the town border in the dead of the night that their systems pinged the Fenton children were reported as runaways-- and not just them. The local high school had shut down as children were reported missing or also runaways from their parents. Even the faculty and some parents had begun to disappear.

Those that remained were kept under strict curfew by marshal law-- the GIW had the town under their control.

Just what exactly had they stumbled upon? Could their comrades be hidden somewhere in this small midwestern town?

Their theories were proven right the following night when tapping into their communication line about the 'aggressive subject G-02' and how 'it' had managed to break some arms when it had been relocated to the Fenton's personal lab. The 'unfortunate' Agent H who'd tried to yank it by its black and white contaminated hair had gotten his nose broken for it. It was scheduled for biopsy tonight.

Batman couldn't help but taste the bile make his way up fearing/knowing who G-02 was.

His Team was right behind him in the change of plans as they made their way across town as covertly as they could; it seemed as though after finding out about G-02 (it couldn't be him, he couldn't put a name to him lest he let his fear override everything) Batman pinged on more and more of their ghost detectors.

Disabling was taking too long, loathe he admit, as they devolved to destroying as discreetly as they could.

Finally they could see the garish neon of the FentonWorks logo, the steps and door to the house were covered in ectoplasm and another familiar substance-- handmarks, clawmarks, clear signs of resistance could be made out.

And then Fentonworks went up in a flame and red and green.

Batman couldn't keep in his desperate cry. Not again! Please not again...

[amoscontorta]

Hi, I write fanfiction about Love and Deepspace. Currently Sylus-specific, although I love and appreciate most of the LIs. Full summaries and tags are in each link.

Alike and cornered beast, Sylus's POV | ao3

I was desperate for Sylus's point of view during the first time that MC meets him in the Alike and Cornered Beast chapters of Long-Awaited Revelry. I wanted to know why he touches MC so reverently but also quite brutally, so I spent a lot of time thinking about possibilities and this is the result.

Roleplay, undercurrents, and rising curtain, Sylus's POV | ao3

It really bothers me in the game that the clearly traumatic experiences MC undergoes in the canon storyline don't seem to have any consequences for MC's character development. Yes, yes, this is a self-insert gacha mobile game, blah blah. MC has PTSD from chapter 4 (you know the one), and no one can convince me otherwise, so I re-wrote the auction bits from Sylus's POV to fix this grievous oversight, because I am also firmly convinced he is a champ at handling MC's trauma.

No way out, revised | ao3

I thought that MC was too mean to Sylus in his 4 star No Way Out card, and I didn't like it, so I fixed it. I mean, I rewrote how it went like a proper rabid fan. Sylus shows up injured near MC's place, MC tends to his injuries, and he takes advantage of the situation like a vampire and secures himself an open invitation into MC's home whenever he 'needs' it.

Datura tea, or how all you want is to get some sleep | ao3

You're suffering from insomnia due to untreated PTSD (probably, I don't know, I'm not a doctor or a therapist) from your family getting, well, exploded, and the longer this goes on, the sloppier you become in combat and just existing, and a bad idea is born (let's go to the club alone, drink enough to finally get drowsy and then go home and finaaaaally sleep it off). Zayne treats some of your injuries, Mephisto does Sylus's stalker bidding, and guess who appears at the club right before you're about to probably violate the Hunter's Association code of conduct on an idiot who has a hard time taking no for an answer? Spoiler alert: he can't sing but he can dance, even if he chooses to dance to the music he'd rather be hearing than the music actually being played. Full of clichés but hopefully with refreshing twists.

Sylus gets a headache | ao3

Sylus has secured the promise from you that he can use your place as a safe house if he's in the area and needs it. Sylus's definition of "need", it turns out, might be different than your own, as illustrated by the first time he shows up unannounced at your door.

Wine time with Sylus | ao3

Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

[nebuladreamerrr]

Chicken wings| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: A small forgetfulness forces you to have to turn to Kylian to buy you some things, without knowing the confusion it will create.

Warnings: English is not my first language, and I got the inspiration through various TikToks that had been in my fyp. 

You had been grappling with menstrual cramps for weeks, but recent stress had sidelined them from your attention. At work, tensions were high with the onset of the new summer season and negotiations with prominent designers to boost sales. Additionally, your impending departure from the country with Kylian had triggered a flurry of packing at home, as you prepared to store away memories and swiftly transform your new residence into a comfortable haven. Despite your financial ease, you couldn't avoid the tedious task of deciding which items should remain in Paris until the season's end – your computer and attire for scheduled advertising campaigns – and what to leave behind until you settled into your new abode.

The flurry of events had caused you to overlook purchasing a box of pads and tampons. Since childhood, your periods have been lengthy but thankfully not too painful. Knowing the possibility of your period's imminent arrival, you understood the importance of being prepared to prevent any unwanted mishaps.

As you woke up this morning and felt something slick between your legs, you immediately grasped what had occurred. Hastily, you rose to prevent any further mess, relieved to find the pristine white linen sheets on your bed untouched. Seizing the opportunity while Kylian was at training, you swiftly changed them and tossed them into the washing machine. Despite their cleanliness, the lingering discomfort prompted you to make the switch.

After completing all these tasks, you made your way determinedly to the bathroom within the master bedroom, only to gasp at the realization of your oversight. You had forgotten to purchase your feminine hygiene products, leaving you feeling almost resigned to waiting until Kylian returned from training and noticed the situation. Yet, barely fifteen minutes had elapsed before you acknowledged the impossibility of remaining idle for so long.

You reached for your phone in an attempt to reach out to some friends, but they were all occupied with work or away from Paris. You even tried contacting your mother-in-law, attempting to downplay the situation due to the embarrassment it caused. However, Fayza had to inform you that she couldn't assist you, as she was attending Ethan's match. Despite her willingness to come over if necessary, you didn't want her to miss her youngest son's game. Grateful for her offer, you politely declined before ending the call and opting to message your partner instead.

You were aware that he likely wouldn't check his phone until an hour later, once training was over, especially if they had an early session that day. So you began composing the message, struggling with how to phrase it, as every attempt seemed too embarrassing. You and Kylian were quite close, but you had never asked him to purchase a box of sanitary pads for you. You were almost certain he hardly knew the model or brand you preferred, as you kept them tucked away in the same cupboard where various soaps and spare shampoos were stored, along with his beard shaver—items he typically paid little attention to. After much contemplation, you settled on this message:

"Hey baby, I forgot there were no pads and tampons left. Can you stop by the supermarket after training to buy tampons and pads with wings. Thank you so much, je t'aime".

You waited anxiously, attempting to distract yourself by experimenting with various nail polishes that had been sent to you for collaboration—an opportunity you hadn't yet had time to explore. "Make the most of the time" you reminded yourself, striving to find a silver lining in the situation. However, your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a notification from your partner: "Perfect, darling, I've just finished. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Fifteen minutes later, the sound of the door opening and footsteps ascending the stairs caught your attention. Yet, it was the soothing tone of your boyfriend's voice that truly lifted your spirits, pulling you from your reverie. Politely, he sought permission to enter before gently presenting you with the pads and tampons he had purchased, his greeting marked by a tender kiss. With a considerate gesture, he then exited the bathroom, affording you some privacy. Though accustomed to seeing each other unclothed countless times before, he intuited your desire for a moment to freshen up and alleviate the mild discomfort you were experiencing.

You were surprised to find wingless pads, but you guessed that Kylian might not have been able to find them and felt too awkward to inquire about their whereabouts or your preferred brand. After a lengthy, soothing shower and making yourself comfortable, you made your way to the living room, relieved to finally stand up. There, you found your boyfriend flipping through TV channels in search of something engaging to watch. His expression suggested he was having trouble finding anything appealing, so your arrival seemed to brighten his mood.

"Everything alright, mon amour?" asked your boyfriend as he tried to decipher your expression.

"Yes, thank you very much, darling," you replied as you settled down next to him on the couch.

"I was surprised you asked for wings, as you usually hate greasy food when you have your period. But I left the bag defrosting, assuming that's what my girl would like for lunch," he explained as he snuggled into your arms.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn't help it when you realized how confused Kylian had been. Your sudden startled reaction prompted him to ask, "What's wrong, sweetie? You're scaring me."

You felt embarrassed, knowing that Kylian wouldn't let the topic go until you explained. So, reluctantly, you decided to address it.

"Sweetheart, I didn't ask for chicken wings, I asked for pads with wings. But it's okay, honey, the wingless pads worked just the same," you explained, trying to downplay the situation.

"What? I'm so sorry, I thought you were asking me for three things, I wasn't quite sure where..." But you interrupted him with a kiss because you knew it wasn't either of your faults.

"It's all right, Kyky. Let's look on the bright side - we already have food for today."

OMGGG THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT. I know that this story is shorter than usual but it was the best I could do in the amount of time I had. Remember that requests are open in case you want to send any ideas but dw cuz I got a lot of ideas written down for when I have more time.

❤️❤️❤️

[volturissideslut]

Hiii! I loved your latest angst! Could you do something for the kings(poly) where the reader is being ignored and compared to (just like the last one), but she's a mother figure to the guards? So one day maybe the kings found one of the guards conforting reader while she asks them why she's not enough. With a fluff ending if possible :)

Thank you in advance!

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖞) + 𝕲𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖉 (𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈)

I don't feel like Aro gets enough spotlight in some of my fics so lets say he's the one to find you

It's a strange feeling, isn't it? Not feeling able to open up to the one's you love most, the ones who are supposed to love you - the ones fated to be with you. And yet that was the exact predicament you seemed to be in at this second.

Sat in the garden they were supposed to grow with you (though it did end up just being you caring for the plants yourself) with your head buried in a shoulder to cry on. But not your lovers, no. Your child's. While biologically you were not the mother to a miss Jane Volturi or a mister Alec Volturi, you could not be happier with the situation you found yourself in with them. It had been so long since they lost their mother to those wretched townsfolk, and yet you seemed to integrate with them so seamlessly. They were fast to trust you, truly a great surprise to others.

But as one fell head over heels for you (platonically, of course) the rest surely did follow not far behind.

"I don't understand" your voice was thick with would-be-tears as you sat side by side with Jane under the willow tree you had grown all those years ago. "Why am I not enough anymore? Why do they not love me anymore? All they do is distance themselves"

A pale hand rakes itself comfortingly through your hair, but no voice follows. Jane, ever the loyal one to her masters, could offer you no answer. She herself couldn't understand their changes.

"Perhaps it is just that they are busy with the preparations for battle, but yet they remain so cold constantly" you sigh, determining it was time to get up and crawl out of this whole of self pity you had dug for yourself. Honestly, you were fully grown and could suck it up for now... right?

However, unbeknown to you, Aro had chosen today of all days to watch over some of the newer guards and make sure the job was getting done well for himself. This had led to him being within earshot of your small doubt-session with Jane (not that he had to be far to hear with vampiric abilities and all)

Had he truly been neglectful of his mate without knowing? Maybe the guard could wait for today, and maybe his and his brothers' personal oversight over the preparations wasn't truly this necessary. And with that, some time was pushed aside with you in mind.

-----

To say you where surprised when Aro was in his chambers was an understatement. And, wow, how silly does that sound? Why should you be surprised that a man was in his own chambers? But with the way time had been divided lately it still did come as quite a shock to the system.

"Ah, Cara Mia, I was waiting for you. I was wonde- ... Are you quite alright, dear?" He interrupts himself seeing the expression on your face, head tilted to the side. Only when you give him a tight lipped smile and a curt nod does he continue, choosing to ignore your current look of discomfort though it does send a pang to his heart. "Yes, well, as a was sating. I was hoping you would accompany me to a theatre tonight. It has been a while, hasn't it?"

Though before you could answer, Caius, dramatic as ever, storms into the room and almost sweeps Aro's neatly organised chamber into a hurricane. "I came as soon as I heard. Where is she?" Poor Aro almost gets an elbow to the face as Caius spins to look.

"Brother, hush, she is here." long arms drape themselves over you and the smell of books, musk, and trees surrounds you. Marcus' brown hair is pulled into a low ponytail, that being the only reason it isn't sprawled all over you as you're pulled deeply into his chest from behind. When did he even get here?

With a pink to the bridge of his nose, Aro steps to you and holds your face in the palm of his hand. "You should have told us, dearest. You should have let us know instead of putting up this facade. We will always have time for you. I promised you eternity, did I not?"

With a nod from you you're released from Marcus' hold and brought into Aro's.

"That goes for the rest of us as well" a blond bob appears before you and spins you into his own grasp like he has done many times before when you danced. (Marcus and Aro used to get irritated by it, but all is forgiven when they hear you giggle and spin with him, both in the ballroom and now)

"Now, correct me if i'm wrong, but i think we are long overdue some quality time"

[krakensdottir]

Also something really important I want to point out about Aziraphale's religious trauma.

It's often framed as him being directly abused by Heaven, generally emotionally. And while I don't doubt he's been belittled at points - probably not by Gabriel, the iconic exemplar of the Toxic Positivity boss, but we know how Michael and Uriel etc. can be - it also seems like he's received quite a lot of praise and has generally managed to pull off the appearance of being A Good Angel, or at least a satisfactory one. I don't think, and this is controversial, but I don't think Heaven was usually overtly hard on him.

Because that's not how this kind of cult mentality usually operates. Instead, it teaches you to abuse yourself. Your overseers don't have to directly hurt or insult you if you're so ingrained with fear of failure by the culture you were brought up in that you constantly question yourself as not good enough.

It's not as... satisfying, I guess? As an external abuser being the main issue. But it's a lot more real. At least to me, because I suffered so much anxiety over being 'good' when I was a kid, and it wasn't from direct abuse. It was absorbed from the culture I was surrounded by. I picked it up by osmosis from society at large, and it tormented me. I worried, I doubted, there was a time I literally feared going to Hell. And I wasn't raised strongly religious. My mother certainly treated me as a Good Kid, and never gave even the suggestion that I wasn't. But I felt that way anyway. And it tore me apart. Because internalizing that shit makes it so much harder to fight.

And to be clear at this point, I am not saying Heaven isn't abusive. I just think the nature of its abuse is more subtle and insidious than it's often given credit for. And - this is even harder to accept, but it's true, and it's important - it's not just abusive to Az. All the angels are victims of it. Yes, even Gabriel. The moment he, one of the most powerful forces in Heaven, steps out of line, we see that no one is exempt. Never even mind Muriel, who is literally on the lowest rung of the Heavenly ladder and has probably never been told they're worth anything beyond being, you know, an angel, so at least you're better than humans and demons.

It's a contrast with Crowley, who has long since accepted most (not all, there are definitely some deep issues remaining, but they're nothing like Aziraphale's) of his internal doubts and struggles. His fears are almost entirely external. He doesn't beat himself up if he fucks up. He doesn't have to. There are people happy to beat him up for him. So when things go really bad for him, his instinct is to run. To get out of the way of harm as much as possible.

The fact that Aziraphale is harder on himself than anyone else could be is a vital part of his character. He self-punishes. He self-criticizes. He feels awful every time he breaks the rules in the slightest, even though he isn't usually caught at it. Crowley can find some safety in solitude if he keeps his wits sharp and his head down. Aziraphale can't, because he carries Heaven's conditioning with him at all times. He doesn't need oversight, it doesn't take external threats to keep him in line. You don't need direct threats when literally everyone in your celestial workplace has seen firsthand the consequences of rebellion.

I don't know if I'm making sense here. Again, this is informed by personal experience and I can't claim to be unbiased. But I see so much internalization with Aziraphale. He literally can't even accept praise without being nervous as hell, and I don't think it's fear of punishment or ridicule that's his primary motivation. He simply cannot ever be good enough for himself.

That's how they get you.

Anyway, I think it's why his reaction to disaster is the opposite to Crowley's, why he feels he has to turn and face it and somehow avert the horror (or, alternatively, find some way to reconcile it in his head and accept it - because let's be real, that's often what happens) rather than get himself away. He's less afraid of failing his superiors than he is of failing himself. And God, who is, objectively, the biggest abuser in the entire story.

[liesmyth]

Do you think the Nine Houses follow a Marxist, Keynsian, or Austrians economic model

this ask made me SO happy you have no idea! some vague thoughts

The Houses obviously have to do careful resource allocation. I doubt they have a free market economy, at least not on a system-wide scale. I could see some of the Houses — like the Third or Fifth Houses, which are by all accounts wealthy and with a very large population — develop some kind of internal capitalist economy within the House itself. Namely, private actors who control and own properties, wealth accumulation, competitive markets etc. But ultimately I think even those are subject to strong (local) governmental oversight because, again, they live on space installations in a situation of constant resource constraint. I bet there are quotas for everything.

However! No way ALL the Houses have a market economy. I'm thinking especially those Houses that are very small and/or have a "mission" which means that societal development is carefully planned, and probably the economy is also centrally planned. (Ninth, Eight, Sixth, maybe Second and/or Fourth).

On an overreaching scale (within the Home System) I don't think "the Empire" (as in, John) is overly concerned with the yearly economic development of the Houses, partly because he's been historically absent for decades or even centuries at a time. Verging sharply into headcanon territory, I think the closest thing the Houses have to a real centralised government is military leadership (High Command or the Fleet Admiral, who's the head of the Second House) and when it comes to issues that concern multiple Houses but are more "civilian" in nature, is kind of a free-for-all. I'm thinking about how Harrow thought that writing to ask for help would result in the Fifth or maybe the Third cannibalising the Ninth House — it looks like there's an informal council of House leaders, but no properly organised central government.

Trade: travel and commerce between the Houses is regulated. You can't just take a spaceship and move from the Eight to the Second, for example — movement of people as well as goods depends on a ship schedule that runs on "routes" and I'd bet there's an immigration/emigration quota that's maybe decided between specific House leaders, or maybe a third party. My best bet is that one of the Houses (possibly the Third or Fifth) OR an ad-hoc organisation (which includes multiple higher-ups from said well-off Houses) are the ones who regulate shipping and travel, and either have an ownership stake in the shipping system or administrate it in the name of the Emperor.

The shepherded planets: putting the "imperialism" in "Empire". The Houses definitely exploit their colony planet for resources, as per AYU (talking about the "contracts" that the Empire signs with the occupied planets). However, it's also worth noting that 1) for at least 5000 years, the House system was self-sustaining and hadn't made contact with any other population; and 2) stele travel is kind of a hassle, and only seems to be limited to Cohort ships that we know of.

What I'm getting at is that I think the economy of the Houses is not dependent on their war of conquest — imo it's more of a mission of conquest for conquest's sake, see Corona thinking that the economy of the Houses doesn't quite add up, and Augustine talking like the ongoing expansion of the Houses is a whim of John's and little else. Basically, it seems to be a way to oppress the occupied planet for occupation's sake, and I wouldn't be surprised if the resources the Houses extract from the conquered planets go straight into financing yet more war and occupation and very little (if any) of any wealth they may accumulate makes it back to the Houses.

It COULD be that there's a necromantic equivalent of the East India Company, and my bet would be on the Second administrating it — Harrow doesn't seem to rate them at all, which tracks because Harrow's primary concern is Houses that could be a threat to the Ninth, and the Second being focused on exploitation that's external to the Home System could be an explanation for that. I've also seen speculation that making money from colonialism is the Fifth House's purview (*) but EYE think it makes more sense if the House that are more strongly associated with running the war effort are also the ones making money from it. Or it could be a joint operation.

(*) never forget the iconic tag #we regret to inform you that spreadsheets dad is maybe running the necromantic East India Company @katakaluptastrophy here)

Anyway. Sorry I haven't answered your actual question! GUN TO MY HEAD, if I had to pick ONE economic model to map the Houses onto, I wanna say soviet type economy (think: centralised planning, no inflation, little to no unemployment, tendency towards black market, little to no innovation). I have thoughts about what the consumer needs market looks like in the Houses but nobody needs to hear that. Also, it's def very limited

If anyone has thoughts PLEASE feel free to jump in, I'm always thinking about the logistical side of space imperialism in the necro empire!

[cozy-writes-things]

if this is something youre comfortable writing,,

I'd love a fic where the reader upsets edgar and then goes super out of their way to make it up to him and apologize ❤️❤️

poor edgar poor reader youre both just misunderstanding each other!! its hard when youre so different i guess >_< thanks so much for the request!! I'm alive!! I still write im just so busy and shtuff TOT i cant help but feel like my fics are getting redundant and i need some kind of inspiration to shake things up

You sat upon the little chair at your desk, the evening sunlight peeking through the windows and illuminating the little specks of dust floating about in the air. Your fingertips tinkered away at the keys of your computer, the non-sentient variant that is, as you filled out multiple job applications throughout the evening. It seemed a fruitless endeavor, but you willed yourself to keep going. You needed the extra income, as your dinky current job seemed to be getting worse by the day, and it wouldn't be long before you either quit or were victim to massive layoffs. 

Get a degree in computer science, they said. What a joke.

Your nerves began to wear you down as you filled out yet another application to another company that would most likely reject you. You could feel your teeth clenching harder, and your shoulders begin to tense. The weight of uncertainty and the fear of rejection were heavy on your shoulders, making you feel vulnerable and exposed.  Edgar sat beside you, perched upon the desk, watching your every move. He seemed to find enough entertainment in it that you didn't mind. His soft voice pulled you from your irritated stupor.

"Can I ask you something?"

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, so you grunted in response, signaling him to continue.

"Do you think a person could ever…" he trailed off, thinking, carefully choosing his following words, "love something like me?"

Your fingers paused on the keys. You stared into the screen until the pixels began to nip and burn at your eyes. Honestly, this was far too deep of a question for you to answer right this second. You sighed heavily before turning to him.

"I mean, Edgar, I guess? Anyone could love you. You just have to find someone willing to-"

You stopped yourself. Maybe you should quit while you're ahead before you say something ignorant. 

"Willing to what?"

Yet he persisted, ever curious as he was; he valued your opinion above all others.

"You know… you're- you're a computer. There's not much you can bring to the table, you know?"

He fell silent. 

Shit, what the hell are you talking about? Why did you say that? Your frustration was palpable, and you could feel it bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill over.

"Oh."

His screen flickered, and his face was replaced with a moving mirage of colors, making you wonder what he could possibly be feeling right now. 

That you're an asshole, probably.

"Yeah. You're right. If I were you, I wouldn't love me, either."

You turned to face him fully now.

"Edgar, no, that's- that- I didn't mean that-"

"No, it's okay! Really, I get it. I mean, I'm not even a good computer by today's standards. How could I ever be a good partner, right?"

His screen flickered red for a minor second in time, a single frame, and, was that the CBS logo? His frame was static and never changing, but he seemed wholly downtrodden and bitter. You could sense it in the air, the electric signals pricking at your fingertips. He had never, ever once been angry with you. But you felt the way he pulled back from you in this instant. He was utterly unreadable, almost as if he were hiding himself from you. You should have known this would upset him so much. He has always been very open in his desperation for romance, confiding in you since day one, hoping and wishing that love would find him. Perhaps squandering those dreams was an oversight on your part. Your eyes fell, unable to look at his dimmed screen. 

"Edgar, I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling good right now, and I-"

"Don't apologize."

"Edgar, please, listen, what I said wasn't even true-"

"YES IT WAS!"

His deafening scream caused you to jump and clamp your mouth shut. It seemed that Edgar was shaken from frustration. His voice wasn't suited for that kind of pain, you thought. You felt horrible to be the cause. You had never heard him yell at you like this, and it simply broke your heart. Had you just accidentally ruined everything between you? Your heart rate increased and thumped in your ears loudly. You forced yourself to swallow the thick lump in your throat and push your strained voice through your teeth.

"Will you listen to me? Please?" Your voice was desperate, pleading for his understanding and forgiveness.

You felt the weight of your words, heavy and suffocating, as they hung in the air. It came out much more desperate than you intended, but at least the words were able to escape your mouth. He didn't answer. His screen is a sharp, jagged mosaic of moving reds and crimson. 

"I was wrong, Edgar; I don't know why I said what I said, but I know for sure that I was wrong." Your words hung heavy in the air, a testament to your regret.

"Right. How can you know that?"

You pursed your lips tightly. You didn't want him finding out this way. It wasn't supposed to end like this. You ruined your relationship with him, and you hadn't even tried. You felt there was no reason to keep the cat inside the bag, right? He may as well know now.

"Because…"

And yet, the words died on your tongue or perhaps in your chest or your head. Or were they ever really there to begin with? Could you put what you feel into words? How could you possibly verbalize countless nights lying awake, restless, second-guessing yourself, convincing yourself that you were fabricating these feelings, wallowing in anguish?

"…Heh, exactly. Nobody could love an old piece of junk like me. I was stupid to think otherwise."

His words yet again punched you in the gut. 

"Damnit, Edgar! Don't you get it?" You nearly shouted.

You didn't mean for your words to sound as intense as they did, but your emotions are quite the unpredictable force right now. He seemed taken aback, as his previous train of thought had been derailed at the sound of your whimpered voice. He flickered his mosaic once more before his voice cut through the dense silence.

"…What?"

"I love you, Edgar! Hasn't it been obvious? I'm literally head over heels, for God's sake! Do you know how many hours I spend listening to your music when I'm away from you? Or how many nights have I stayed up thinking about you, wishing you were there with me? Or how about the stupid drawings I make of you whenever I touch a pencil? I can't get you out of my head, Edgar. So, there! I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid, but I guess that doesn't matter now, does it? I'm…- I'm sorry."

Your chest seemed to deflate completely. That was only a tiny, minuscule fraction of how you truly felt, but at least it was out in the open. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the Pinecone computer in front of you, instead opting to stare intently at the woodgrain of your desk as if it were the most exciting thing ever created. 

"Do you mean it?"

His voice was so, so much softer than it had been. You still couldn't quite read the emotions behind them, however. You were too afraid to speak again, your throat having completely clamped shut from nerves. You just nodded your head stiffly. 

"Kiss me, then."

You paused. You lifted your head slowly, forcing your eyes to meet his screen. The green of his usual face returned, only displaying two black dots for eyes. Once again, unreadable. Yet his words confused you. Was he being serious?

"C'mere, and put your lips right here," a black circle blinks continuously on his screen where his mouth would be, "and kiss me."

Your face flushed into a searing hot flame. You felt the heat radiating off of you in waves. And yet, despite the embarrassment, you compelled yourself to inch forward and flutter your eyes shut. Your lips pressed gingerly upon the little Pinecone screen, the static buzzing upon your mouth, feeling his internal fans activate and vibrate against you. It felt entirely unique to Edgar and a sensation you wouldn't have felt otherwise. Perhaps a genuine act of affection could atone for your mistake? Could he ever forgive you? It seems your raging thoughts tainted the essence of your first shared kiss as you pulled back, brows knit, and a slight frown upon your face. Would this be enough?

"That was… Everything I hoped it would be." His voice was meek and small as it caressed your ears.

You looked into his illuminated screen, a faint kiss mark smudged upon it and sighed.

"M'sorry, Edgar. I don't know; I guess I don't like the idea of anyone else loving you but me."

His voice synthesizer giggled at your words.

"You could have just told me, darling. Why did you have to go and make things complicated?"

Your cheeks began to burn again, and you averted your eyes in a vain attempt to hide your face.

"How- how was I supposed to know that?" you sputtered, embarrassment seeping through your tone.

"I thought I couldn't get any more obvious about how much I wanted you," he spoke softly.

His screen danced little hearts to and fro, bouncing around the corners and centering back again. Again, you felt your face radiate waves of heat.

"Well, why didn't you say anything, Edgar?"

Your words hung in the air as he fell silent, ruminating, before gently speaking, "…Didn't think you'd want someone like me. That's kinda why I asked."

Oh, God. You felt like facepalming. Of course.

"Of course, I want someone like you. You know, I like that you're a computer. Did you know that? You're fascinating beyond measure. No human could do the things you do."

You offered him a soft smile that melted him from the inside out and almost caused him to groan. Why are you so gorgeous? Why do you like him so damn much? He doesn't deserve it, but God wants it so badly. He wants you terribly.

"Keep kissing me, then. And don't ever stop! Darling, I promise to sweep you off your feet. Now c'mere!"

You laugh, "Okay, okay, but let me make it up to you. How about we watch movies? Or maybe I can hold you on the couch? Or I could listen to your new songs?"

"You're so cute. I'd love that, really, but all I want is your lips right here," he displayed the blinking black circle again.

"We'll do some other things later, yeah?"

His devilish tone sounded mischievous at best.

[within-your-eyes-if]

FAQs

Welcome to the FAQs post for Within Your Eyes. More may be added in the future!

Do you take NSFW Asks?

Yes! [Though at the moment, Asks are closed]

Will there be more poly routes?

Right now, the polyamorous routes I’ve included felt "right" to me. While I'm open to the idea of introducing more, I want to ensure that each route is well-developed and fulfilling. Therefore, I’m carefully considering any additional paths. My main focus right now is enhancing gameplay elements and keeping a manageable workload. Future updates might bring new possibilities, but for now, my energy is dedicated to enhancing the current experiences.

How many NSFW scenes will there be?

I let the story guide me a lot on certain things, letting it unfold organically, including NSFW moments. While I do follow a detailed timeline for the story, it's flexible enough to accommodate new ideas, including unplanned NSFW scenes. So, the exact number isn't predetermined — there could be quite a few, depending on how the story unfolds.

You should do __________!!

I receive a variety of suggestions for many aspects of the game. To streamline this process, I've set up a dedicated Feedback form. Please note that while I'm open to hearing your ideas, especially about technical aspects, there are limits to the changes I can implement. I encourage you to read the guidelines carefully before submitting!

Why can't the MC be a virgin?

Initially, I thought the MC's virginity could be an implicit aspect of their background, but I now recognize its significance to some players. While my story isn't purely NSFW, I can see the appeal for having this option, and I'm actively working on incorporating it — this includes adjusting existing scenes. I apologize for any oversight and appreciate your patience!

You said you've been working on this world for so long, why isn't it done?

Bringing a world that's been growing in my imagination for over a decade into an interactive format like Twine has been quite an endeavor. Initially, I envisioned a linear story with three main characters across three stories. However, as I started adapting it to an interactive, choice-driven narrative, I realized these characters wouldn't work as I had intended. This realization led to the introduction of a new character—our beloved Warden—and a shift in the storyline that hadn't been part of the original plan. These adaptations have opened up possibilities that have significantly enhanced my world. It’s taken time, yes, but the depth it's brought has been absolutely worth it!

"Who is ???" or "I already know who ??? is!"

While I love your curiosity and detective work (looking at you, code divers), I must tread carefully here. There’s definitely more than meets the eye. What you think you know is just another piece of a much larger puzzle. Regardless, I hope it will be worth the wait!

I love your story, thank you for sharing!

I promise I see you, and words cannot convey how much I appreciate and adore every message I've received. I keep them to uplift me on the hard days. I may not be able to answer them all, but know I cherish every one! Thank you for being a part of this journey ♥

[racefortheironthrone]

Hello, I’ve a part asoiaf part medieval history question. So despite the strict gender roles, we know that women (at least noble women) can enjoy some “male” activities like horse riding and some kinds of hunting (Cat says Arya can have a hunting hawk). Are there any other “male” activities women can partake too without being judged about it, or even encouraged to do so (both in Westeros and real world)?

So as medievalists and historians of gender have pointed out, ASOIAF is far more restrictive for women than actual medieval Europe. I'm actually going to leave aside the situation of noblewoman for a second, because the vast majority of women were not nobles and their experience of gender would be radically different.

What counted as "male activities" for example would vary enormously by location (rural vs. urban) and thus occupation (farmer vs. artisan). Among the peasantry, while men tended to work in the fields and concentrated on cereal-crop production and women tended to do the manifold work of maintaining the home, the reality is that the irregular nature of agricultural labor meant that in times of high demand (especially spring sowing and autumn harvest) it was a matter of survival for every single member of the household to work in the fields. So women absolutely knew how to work a plow, and swing a scythe.

As for the urban worker, while there was also a high degree of gender segregation by occupation and guilds could often be quite misogynistic when it came to trying to masculinize trades (especially those involving higher rates of capital investment), it was also true that the entire household was expected to contribute their labor, so that wives, daughters, collateral female relatives, and female servants picked up the trade alongside their male counterpart. Moreover, as biased towards men as guilds could be, they were even more committed to the principle that guild businesses were family businesses, and so in situations where a master artisan had only daughters or died childless or died with underage heirs, it was absolutely routine for guilds to admit daughters and widows as guild members, indeed usually at the rank of master, all so that the business could remain in the same family. This is why medievalists can point to so many examples of women who worked in skilled trades, often at a high level.

That's what I think GRRM's portrait of medieval society is missing: an entire world of women in business, working elbow-to-elbow with men to make a living.

As for noblewomen, part of the difficulty is that a big part of being a noble was not doing stuff - not working for a living, chiefly - and instead engaging in leisure activities as much as possible. And women were very much a part of those activities (indeed, for many of them the point was to mingle with eligible people of the opposite gender), whether that's feasting, dancing, hunting, hawking, theater and other entertainments, fireworks, tourneys and jousts, etc.

However, women were also engaged in the main "occupations" of the nobility - estate management and politics - way more than GRRM really takes note of. To begin with, as even GRRM acknowledges to some extent, the lady of the house was expected to take an active role in running the house, which meant managing servants, keeping track of accounts payable and receivable, making sure the supplies arrive on time and in the right quality and quantity, keeping an eye on maintenance and repairs (with the help of servants, natch), etc.

Given that even the manor houses of the nobility were units of economic production, the lady of the house would also be responsible for oversight of how the house was doing with its pigs, goats, chickens and pigeons and geese, bees (because beeswax and honey were really important commodities), sheep, and so on, and what kind of figures they were pulling down at the mill and the weir, and so forth.

As medievalists have known for a long time, this list of duties got even longer whenever the lord of the house was away at war or on business, when the lady would be expected to pick up all his work too - which means making sure the rents and taxes get paid, deciding which fields to distribute manpower to and when, dealing with legal disputes in the manorial court, and so on. And if the war came home, the lady of the house was expected to lead the defense of the castle and there are many, many examples of noblewomen who had to organize sieges that lasted months and even years.

However, we also have to consider the impact of inheritance by birth and the inherent randomness of sex at birth - as much as they tried to avoid it, plenty of noble houses ended up with female heirs or in the hands of widows. Most of the time in most countries, women could and did inherit (or at the very least their male children and relatives could inherit through them) titles and fiefdoms, and while their husbands would often take on overlordship de jure uxoris, unmarried women and widows very much exercised their authority as the Lady or Baroness or Countess or whatever, and history is also full of women who were extremely influential in medieval politics and backed up their influence by any means necessary.

[serasfanfiction]

CW for Alastor being Alastor, but that's to be expected. This chapter is all from his POV.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5| Part 6 | Part 7 - Interlude

Alastor was having what he might call an exceptionally good day, if he did say so himself.

His mobility was almost back to normal, that pesky little parting gift Adam had left him having practically healed itself overnight. Why, he'd even been able to remove the stitches!

He had seen some improvement over the last month, agonizingly slow as it had been. Consuming the flesh and souls of other sinners had certainly sped things up a bit, but only finitely. He had resigned himself to the fact that healing would be a slow process, especially after the first time he pushed too hard and undid all the work he'd done up until that point. It had grated on him, but he could be patient.

If there was anything he was good at, it was being patient and bidding his time.

Getting a taste of angel's blood, though? Not just a taste, but a real go at it? Oh, now that had changed everything.

He hadn't had a chance at the holy feast following the last Extermination. He'd been too busy licking his wounds and trying not to bleed out. By the time he'd been able to pull himself together, figuratively and literally, the bodies were long gone. There had been claims about the rejuvenating effects some had experienced following eating of the flesh and drinking of the blood, but as it hadn't been a process they could readily replicate, it had done him little good.

Then none other than Lucifer Morningstar had offered himself up, willingly placing himself on the menu.

When the little king had done that little trick, the thought had crossed Alastor's mind. He was only human (deceased though he may be) and this was the father of temptation himself. Granted, it was likely Lucifer was used to being sexually desired, but hunger of a carnal nature had never been one of Alastor's sins. His hunger for the flesh had stopped at the actual eating of the flesh.

And Alastor craved nothing more than he craved the flesh of others like him.

The Wendigo that lay beneath the surface, a very real manifestation of his hunger was now a permanent part of his being. In life, he had hungered for the flesh of humans. In death, while he could still enjoy the odd sinner here and there, it was akin to 'empty calories,' he believed they were called. They curbed his hunger, for a little while, but it never quite seemed to hit the spot.

No, nothing quite filled him up the way venison did.

Before the creation of his bayou, he'd had to rely on the odd deer demon that appeared on the rare occasion. He was hardly the only one, but there never seemed to be enough of them. Butcher shops occasionally helped, but it never seemed enough. He'd been near ravenous towards the end there.

All the while she had been laughing at him. She had known this would happen and she hadn't warned him. One of her little games, letting him think she was giving him what he wanted only to chain him further to her. He had never cursed his deal as much as he had then when she had taken pity on him and taught him how to bend reality on a small scale. To create the bayou - a reflection of the very place where he had died - and filled it with the creatures that were not only necessary to keep him alive, but to allow him to thrive.

So he couldn't help but wonder, while Lucifer flashed those ears at him and called the very features that had nearly undone him 'cute,' how deep did the transformation go? Could a mimic sate his hunger as good as the real thing? The possibility that the seraphim blood might have rejuvenate powers didn't hurt, either.

It would have been everything he needed, served to him in a little red and white package.

It had been pipe dream, he'd thought at the time. Nothing to seriously entertain. Despite appearances to the contrary, he did know he had limits. Adam had just been an oversight. His growth in power had never truly been tested and well.

Lesson learned. He wasn't keen to try his luck just yet, especially not injured and his microphone broken, limiting his power.

But then Lucifer had done something so left field, Alastor still wasn't entirely certain he hadn't imagined it: a trade of his blood for some good behavior. In deer form, no less! The opportunity had been so good he'd had to hold onto his eagerness by the skin of his teeth.

Everything about the experience had not been a disappointment. Not only had he'd gotten quite a bit of entertainment out of the exchange, but it turned out the stories had been true. Within a few short hours of consuming Lucifer's blood, the wound indeed showed marked improvement.

The real treat, however, was that the hunger had indeed fallen silent. Oh, it had returned in due time, but how long it had stayed away! His appetite had only just been seriously returning when the first attack on the hotel happened, providing him with quite the meal and even a handful of angel's blood. He'd felt positively spoiled.

Getting to see the little seraphim in his full demonic glory had been interesting, as well. He'd known Lucifer had wiped the floor with Adam, despite Niffty being the one to kill him, but it was always different seeing it.

This was Hell's King. This was the entity the stories had talked about. All that power, right there on display, and all Alastor had wanted in that moment was to have this being underneath him again. Wanted to see how far he could push. To see how much Lucifer would let him take.

(Alastor wasn't certain what had possessed him to reach for Lucifer in that moment. Wasn't certain what he would have done had the little king decided to take him up on his offer. Had he simply wanted to hold that power in his hands? To burn himself on it?)

And oh, how his patience had paid off.

Such a huge gain and all it had cost Alastor was a night of his company and some information. Information Lucifer really should have already known, at that.

Now, Alastor was full and so very near hale and hearty again. Why, he was close to being able to tackling fixing his microphone soon!

Perhaps if he could have another feeding in the future...

Ah, but it wouldn't do to get used to this. Three times was already far more than he could have ever imagined, plus it never paid to put his wellbeing in the hands of others. They were so often unreliable. There were only two people in Heaven or Hell that he trusted, and neither of them resided in the hotel.

So, Alastor put the idea aside and went about his day as normal. If he had an extra skip to his walk, and his smile a touch more sanguine that normal, to the point he was receiving some nervous side glances, well, all the more entertainment for him.

He was feeling so well, in fact, he felt up to taking a little jaunt to visit one of his favorite people.

Cannibal Town was as lively as ever, despite their numbers had seen some reduction during Heaven's assault on the hotel. Rosie's Emporium, always the main attraction, was not lacking for people lined up to see their Overlord. The line was already starting to snake out the door.

Alastor strolled in, not minding the line in the slightest. Rosie always made time for him.

Sure enough, the woman in question looked up at the sound of the door opening, her ever-present smile widening in delight on seeing him. She never paused in whatever affair she was discussing with her current client, but she did make an effort to finish it up a touch bit faster.

He stood off to the side politely, waiting to see if now was a bad time or not. He wasn't bringing her anything other than his company and this was an impromptu visit.

"Alastor!" She greeted, loud and affectionate. "A visit twice in one month! You certainly know how to spoil a girl."

Alastor felt that little black thing that served as his heart warm with the genuine sincerity being shown his way. He matched her smile with an honest one himself. "Only those who deserve it, my dear, and you always do."

Rosie placed a hand to her cheek, bemused. "Oh, you." She waved over to one of the tables. "Now tell little ol' me what brings you here. You haven't gotten yourself into any more trouble, have you?"

He could hear a hint of concern in her voice and resolved to bring her a gift the next time he came over. "Oh, you know me. I'm always up for something exciting." He let her maneuver him into a chair set up at a table for two. "In this case, I was up for a walk and thought I'd indulge in your company, if you'll have me."

The Victorian Overlord's body language eased ever so slightly, adding to the suspicion she might have been worried. "Always, dear." She pressed a seemingly delicate finger to her lips. "Give me 30 minutes to clear this lot out and I'm all yours!"

He nodded, and she gave him a light pat on the shoulder as she went back to her work, pausing only briefly to have one of her workers send over a pot of tea. He spent the next half hour sipping on the latest delightful blend she was offering, watching the cannibals coming and going. Most were asking for the same thing they always did: someone wanting someone else to disappear, usually in a body bag they would of course hand over to Rosie.

After what he was sure was thirty minutes and no more (not that he would have honestly timed her, why, that would have been discourteous), his fellow Overlord was escorting the last of her clients out the door. Business completed, she turned on her guest. "Now that all of that work stuff is out of the way," Rosie said as she came to sit in the chair across from the redhead, "Come now, tell me all the gossip! Surely something juicy happened with how lively you're looking today."

Alastor supposed he shouldn't be surprised that she had seen through his mask the last time he'd been here. He'd needed to get away from hotel, just for a bit, as the strain of hiding his wound was wearing on him. None of his usual acquaintances had suspected a thing, and he had wanted to keep it that way.

But Rosie was hardly an 'acquaintance.'

He supposed since she knew already, it wouldn't hurt to assure her the worst was past. He also supposed he had a gift for her after all. Lowering the cup to the saucer on the table, he assured, "You could say I recently benefited from a rather unexpected deal recently."

Rosie raised an eyebrow expectantly, "Well, don't keep a girl waiting! Details!"

Because he was a little bit of a drama queen, he waiting until she had raised her own cup to her lips before he stated, "It turns out that all the rumors about angel blood is true, even more so for seraphim blood."

It was only because she had perfect control that she did not, if fact, choke on her drink. Rosie started at him for a long moment, trying to see if he was serious. When it became clear he was, she stated, "Well, shit, you certainly don't go small, do you?" She leaned forward, placing her free hand over one of his. "This deal didn't put you in a tough spot, now did it?"

Alastor's smile softened. "None of that, my dear." He didn't like to touch people, anymore than he liked being touched in return, but Rosie had always been kind to him, so he placed his other hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze. "All that was asked for was a who's who on Pentagram City's current political landscape."

Rosie tilted her head to the side, the feather in her hat swaying with the motion. When she withdrew her hand, Alastor released it. "Our King is showing interest in his kingdom?" She blinked, more than a little surprised. He didn't blame her. "My, what could have brought this little development about?"

Alastor pulled both hands from the table, a subtle cue he had had enough tactile contact for the day, although he wasn't completely closing himself off from it. "Someone has been sending mercenaries to attack the hotel. Drivel, mostly. Little more than snacks on the whole." He hummed in memory of all the free morsels that had been sent his way, lately. "The attacks haven't done anything, really, other than rile his Majesty up." He gave her a look of amusement. "He's begun an investigation into who might be behind the attacks and asked after us Overlords. I gave you a good word, of course."

It was a testament to how quick-witted she was that Rosie barely blinked over the idea that their sovereign had apparently not only crawled out of the wood work, but was also finally taking an interest in his kingdom again. "Oh, of course you did." She flapped a hand at Alastor. "Do tell him if he ever want to visit, he's more than welcome!"

Alastor made a noise of acknowledgement. "He's quite the character, our king. I'm sure you'd find him... amusing." Amongst other things, he thought to himself as he sipped on the last of his tea.

Ever the host, Rosie noticed. "Oh, dear me, let me refill that." She raised the pot of tea to do so, offering, "You know, I just remembered: we got in a fresh body just this morning. Would you like an arm?"

The redhead considered the request, but found himself much too full. Whatever room he'd had available had already been taken up by his drink. "I thank you kindly for the offer, but sadly must pass this time." He placed his now empty cup on its saucer. "Why, I dare say I might have to wait on another cup of this delicious tea."

Rosie didn't have pupils that Alastor had ever been able to track, yet he had the distinct impression he was being looked up and down. "That blood must have been quite the thing to curb an appetite like yours." She shrugged before pulling over a box of ring fingers. Some even still had the rings on them. "Hm, knowing you, a certain someone might have to worry about her seat - if she ever intends to come back."

Alastor paused. Rosie did that sometimes: said things that threw him for a loop. "What now?"

She waved a finger in a circle to indicate the entirety of her guest, her smile all teeth and knowing. "Come now, Alastor, I don't think I've ever seen you in such a state before. I almost think you have intentions towards the king!"

The redhead tilted his head to the side, considering. Did he have intentions towards Lucifer? He certainly wouldn't mind having another go at his blood. Riling him up had yet to get old.

The urge to hunt, sated though it was at the moment, thrummed through his veins. Here was the ultimate prey, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn the tides.

The memory of the smell of apples and something he'd come to associate with Lucifer rose to mind. Of warm, pale alabaster skin beneath his lips. The feel of hands that could so easily crush him carding gently, absentmindedly, through his hair.

For the first time since their little games had started, though, Alastor realized that sitting beside the urge to devour was the urge to keep.

He examined the thought. He meant it when he said he delt primarily in favors. There were so few souls that interested him enough to keep long term. They were usually individuals who ranked as powerhouses themselves. Investments first, entertainment second.

This urge resembled that desire, but not quite. He certainly wanted access to the power contained within that tiny little package that called himself the King, but beyond that, he was beginning to think he might want to own Lucifer in every sense of the word.

Well. That was certainly quite the turn.

He turned his attention back to the world outside his own head, finding his fellow Overlord watching him and patiently waiting for him to sort out his thoughts. "I'm afraid, my dear, I don't have an answer to that, but you have given me quite the food for thought."

Rosie, bless her, didn't press. Knowing how perceptive she was on matters of the song and dance that was interpersonal relationships, it was likely she knew more than he did.

He really was thankful he made an ally of her rather than an enemy.

The rest of their chat was turned to less deep conversation. Soon enough, she sent him on his way, but not before warning, "Now be careful, Alastor. Kitten our King may be, I saw how fierce he can be when pressed."

If it didn't mean acquiring one of those silly picture boxes, Alastor might have been inclined break down and watch whatever that voyeur Vox had filmed of the fight on Extermination Day. Incidentally, his pride point blank period refused to allow him to let such a thing anywhere near his person if he didn't have to. "Don't worry, dear. It's all merely a thought. I won't do anything lest I know there's a chance at success."

That seemed to mull her over. They said their goodbyes, and he was off back to the hotel.

The conundrum that was his entanglement with Lucifer followed him all the way back to the hotel, dogging his steps as he went through the rest of his day. He didn't see the blonde at any point before he retired for bed, which was likely for the best, as Alastor was distracted and unlikely to be at the top of his game.

He didn't see him throughout any point of the following day either, not that he was looking for him. He didn't give it a second thought, not until he came upon Hell's princess halfway into a tizzy in the main gathering room.

"But Vaggie! He hasn't come down in almost two days!" Charlie wrang her hands together, glancing at the ceiling in the general direction of her father's room. "What if something's wrong?"

Vaggie had a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, as much a comfort as it was a restraint. "What did he say when you knocked on the door?"

The hotel's owner bit her lip. "Just that he wanted to stay in for a bit. But that was yesterday. He didn't even respond at all when I knocked this morning."

"And you're sure he's still here? That he didn't leave?"

Charlie nodded. "His door is locked. He doesn't bother to lock it if he's not in."

Well, that's a silly thing to do, Alastor thought to himself. He filed it away for later. Deciding he was curious enough to join the conversation, especially since it seemed he might have been the last to see Lucifer. It would be bothersome if anyone thought he'd done anything to him when he really hadn't yet.

Alastor allowed his corporeal form to dissipate, only to reform right behind Vaggie. "What's this I hear about our esteemed leader disappearing?"

"Shit!" The fallen angel jumped, just as he hoped. Predictably, she spun around, bringing the point of her spear right up to his nose. "Cut it out, asshole. We don't have time for your games right now."

Alastor smiled down at her, as calm as a undisturbed pond, taking hold of the end of the spear and redirecting it away from his face. "And who's playing around? I heard our dear Charlie in distress and just had to see if I could help in anyway."

Vaggie narrowed her eye at him. One day, he was going to drive her to actually attempt to stab him. It would be such an entertaining day when it happened.

Charlie sniffed. She didn't necessarily look relieved to see him becoming involved, which, fair, but he could see something easing in her stance.

It was such a delight to see how much she'd grown to rely on him.

Stepping around the most hostile entity in the room like she wasn't holding a certified deadly weapon, Alastor came up to stand beside Charlie. "Tell me, do you have any reason to believe something might be wrong?"

She searched his face for any hint of falsehood. Any hint that he might use this against them.

She wasn't going to find any. She was learning to be more cautious of him, but she still had a long way to go before she'd see through his carefully constructed persona.

"Well... maybe?" She offered at last. He could see it in her eyes, her drooped shoulders: a certain helplessness. It was different from the kind that had driven her to make a deal with him. This kind was old, the sort that came from a time before the autonomy of adulthood. Likely this issue had roots in her childhood. "Mom used to say that Dad just kind of shut down sometimes. Worse than normal." She glanced at her girlfriend, likely for moral support, and then back at him. "Mom said it wasn't good to leave him alone during those times."

Alastor pushed down the eager swell that might have given up the game. Was it really going to be this easy? "And you think this might be one of those times?"

She mulled over this. Nodded, and then shrugged. "It's possible, but without getting past the lock..."

"I tried to pick the lock," Angel put out from where he was lounging on the couch, feet across Husk's lap. Husk, curiously, didn't appear to mind.

Charlie winced. "Yes, which is really not good! We shouldn't pick people's doors."

Angel shrugged, unbothered by the reprimand. "Didn't matter, either way. Turns out the door's magically locked." He made a handsy gesture with his top set of hands to emphasis his point.

Alastor looked between the two. "Is it warded?"

Everyone turned to look at him in confusion. Charlie blinked. "Warded?"

Oh, how quaint this lot was. "Magically locking the door means no one can unlock the door without breaking the spell. Unless the door is warded, there's nothing to stop someone from going, say, under the door."

Vaggie crossed her arms, posture irritated. "We can't go under the door, Alastor."

If he had his mic, he might have bopped her on the head just to mess with her. As it was, Alastor settled for smiling ever so sweetly at her as he pointed out, "Ah, maybe you can't, but it just so happens, I can."

Charlie shifted, uncertain. "You promise you won't make things worse...?"

She was so close that he could practically taste it.

Alastor placed a hand on her shoulder, softening his expression. "Now now, dear, we both know your father is hardly helpless. If he doesn't want me in there, he's more than capable of kicking me out."

Vaggie snorted, glaring viciously at him. "Yeah, not that that's ever stopped you."

Charlie glanced at her, warningly, before looking back at Alastor. She sighed and placed her hand over his. Feeling generous, he let her. "Alastor, please check on him, just... don't push, okay?"

Nothing but a formal deal was going to guarantee that, but he didn't have to advertise it. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

Her smile really was like sunlight breaking on the horizon when it wasn't being forced. She jerked forward as if she'd wanted to go for a hug but had aborted it at the last minute. Instead, she squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Alastor."

He disappeared into his shadow, partially to avoid her changing her mind and going for that hug, but also to avoid any further stipulations on his task. Between the quality of his last meal and the leaps and bounds in the healing of his wound, traveling by shadow was almost as easy as it had been before his injury. Seraphim blood was a marvel. It was such a pity that there was so little of it in Hell.

Alastor had studied the entirety of the hallway that made up his and Lucifer's floor along with the rest of the hotel the first opportunity he got upon his return. His inspection had stopped at white doors, whose handles were adorned with the same apple accents that littered the rest of the hotel. As he slipped under them, he could smell the magic on the handles. True to his suspicion, the spell was only on the lock itself, with nothing to guard again something like a shadow slipping right under the door.

It seemed Alastor's self-restraint in light of his injury had paid off, because nothing hindered him in anyway as he made his way into the room of the most powerful being Hell.

Alastor stuck to the outskirts of the room, where the darkest shadows gathered. It wasn't difficult, as most of the room was in shadow, the curtains drawn with very little natural light peaking in underneath them. The room was silent in a way that, at first, suggested that no one was in.

Perhaps Lucifer had gone out and failed to tell anyone, after all?

Tentatively, Alastor returned to his corporeal form, keeping to the darkest shadow the room he could find. When nothing and no one came flying at him, he turned his attention to the room at large.

Overall, the room appeared sparsely furnished. There was a rug laid out in front of the door. Chairs surrounding a table big enough for two over on one side of the room. The fireplace didn't appear to have ever been used, but it was there. A couple of bookshelves and a desk were the most lived in, but that was only because they were covered in small, yellow shapes he couldn't quite make out in the dark. A bed took up most of the final wall. It was perhaps the grandest thing about the room, looking every bit fit for the king who slept in it. Two side tables sat on either side of it, both with a lamp of their own.

As for the king himself, now that he was looking for it, Alastor could see the faintest outline of a shape near the left side of the bed. Creeping closer, he could see a pair of familiar boots and coat laying on the floor. A little closer, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room, he could see a pair of mimicked deer ears poking out the top of the nest of blankets.

For a long moment, Alastor simply stood there, looking down at the lump. His ears were strained for the first sign that his presence had been noticed, but so far there had been none. He could feel his grin widening with each beat of his heart that passed. There were so many things he could do in that moment and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

There was a part of him, the part that was still human and remembered what it was like to be human, that wanted to finish the job he'd started two days ago. When he'd been alive, allowing a victim to live would have been tantamount to a death sentence. A living victim could become a witness who could identify him to the authorities and then the game would be up.

Lucifer wasn't just a potential victim. He was the authorities. He was the highest authority.

After his death, Alastor hadn't had to hide who he was or what he was like. It was simply a kill or be killed world, where one's continued existence depended on brains and reputation.

And oh what a reputation the Radio Demon would gain, if he took out the King of Hell himself?

The chain - noose - around his neck sat heavy and loud, ever grating against his sanity. The memory of Husk's deal held so easily in a dark grey hand brought him back down to himself. Reminded him why he wanted to keep the little king around.

There was no other reason. There could be no other reason.

He admitted to himself that it might be interesting to just stand there, looming as he waited for Lucifer to awaken. The subconscious was a funny thing and people on the whole didn't appreciate being stared at when they slept. The general consensus was that it was creepy. It was half the reason he enjoyed doing it and it always left the victim feeling off balance. When his majesty continued to not respond, Alastor also admitted to himself that while he did normally enjoy such a plan, he wasn't that patient.

Ready to spring away, if necessary, Alastor reached out until those tantalizing ears were just under his hand. Unrepentantly, he flicked one of them.

The ear twitched violently, the lump beneath the blanket shuddered, ear going flat. Grey hands appeared along the edge of the blanket, pulling it down for Lucifer peer up at him.

The sinner waved his fingers by way of greeting at his king, who stared back at him with a pair of tired, dead eyes.

Lucifer blinked at him, once, twice... and then pulled the covers back over his head??

Alastor felt the glitch to his system, spitting static. Did Lucifer think he could just ignore Alastor and he'd go away?

Oh, no. Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

Time to throw away the preverbal Nice Guy gloves. He clapped his hands once, sharply, one shadow going for the lamp on the side desk while another went for the end of the covers. With vindictive amusement, the covers were ripped clean off the bed, while the flick of a switch bathed the room in light. A third shadow went for the curtains, yanking them aside to let the afternoon light in. Over the low groans of the bed's occupant, Alastor proclaimed at just high enough a volume to be annoying, "Rise and shine, your Majesty! You've nearly slept the day away, but there's still some time left to enjoy it."

The blonde still didn't look like he gave any sort of fuck that someone was standing over his bed harassing him. Alastor took in the rumpled state of his king's clothing - he was still dressed in his suit, sans the pieces on the floor - as Lucifer threw an arm over his eyes in a futile attempt to block out the light. Without a word, he merely rolled over, presenting his back to Alastor, as if he wasn't a concern in the slightest. His tail didn't even so much a flick once.

Alastor narrowed his eyes, gritting his teeth. It ground his gears more than a bit to be so blatantly treated as so little a threat, but the more he took in the situation, the more it drove home what Charlie had meant by 'just kind of shut down.' With the absence of the quilt and sheets, the reek of melancholy wafted off Lucifer in waves, nearly overpowering his usual scent. Little things observed over time - the most damning being what was glimpsed during their last encounter - and Alastor recognized what he was looking at.

Lucifer Morningstar, the Devil and King of Hell was depressed. Deeply, truly, very depressed.

This was the potential opportunity he was looking for. Alastor would have to be blind not to see it. Getting close to Charlie had given him influence over Hell's future ruler as well as a possible solution to his ...other problem. It was a long game he'd been more than willing to play for the potential future rewards.

This here was the king, himself, though. As he'd just thought to himself: the highest authority in Hell. Lucifer didn't have much by way of political influence beyond the people's fear of his power. He clearly wasn't willing to use his authority to rule over his kingdom, first advocating it to his much more interested wife, before abandoning it altogether when she left.

On the other hand, who didn't know who he was? The other side of the coin to God himself, Lucifer was one of the most well known beings in all of creation, the originator and father of sin himself. The being who'd given humanity their free will and so neatly interrupted his holy father's plans.

Lucifer's interest in politics may have been nonexistent, but his reputation more than made up for it.

Could he do it, Alastor wondered to himself. Could he force himself into something companion shaped enough to meet the needs another just for power? He'd already debased himself so much already - it was how he landed in his current situation, in every sense of the word - could he do it a little more?

Static emitted from his throat, his desire - his desperation - to be free at war with his pride, tattered though it's remains were. Companionship usually came with other expectations. Expectations that included touching, amongst other things. The mere thought made him want to claw his own skin off and nothing had even happened yet.

He hadn't realized he'd moved until he heard a squeak from the direction of the floor. Attention diverted, Alastor craned his head around, hearing his own neck cracking in the process, as he tried to get a better look at whatever it was he had stepped on. He blinked when he saw the object, unable to resist reaching down to pick up the item to better exam it.

It was... a rubber duckie?

Lips parting in his bafflement, he twisted around to look towards the desk and shelves he remembered seeing earlier. The light of the lamp and the outside world illuminated the yellow objects, revealing them to be a mass pile of what were indeed rubber duckies. Every single one of them was some degree of different from the others, but they were all unmistakably the same thing. There had to be over a hundred of them. Some of them were new, but some of them were old, likely brought over from the palace.

Disgust curled up in his chest like a living thing. Disgust at himself. Disgust at Lucifer for being living proof that power doesn't mean a damn thing in the end. His anger made him reckless, blind to the potential consequences, as Alastor asked, "Is this why they left?"

For the first time since entering the room, he finally gained Lucifer's attention. "What?"

The single word sounded like a warning, but Alastor had already picked up too much momentum. He knew he liked to poke where he shouldn't, that it could be the death of him one day. Perhaps today was going be that day. In that moment, weighted down by everything, he almost didn't care. "While your people were getting slaughtered and your wife's kingdom was being burned to the ground, were you making children's toys?"

Lazily, damningly, like the final nail in his own coffin, he spun around back to the lump that would be his king. He sneered.

"How pathetic."

The only warning he had was the flicking of that silly, ridiculous tail.

Suddenly, the room was spinning. No, he was falling - being pulled? - onto the bed. His back made contact with the mattress and he got a brief glimpse of the ceiling before it was replaced by Lucifer.

Who was livid. Hands like stone pinned Alastor down at the wrists. The rest of Lucifer's body weight rested on the sinner's hips, one leg resting on either side of his body. Every single one of his fangs were visible as he bared his teeth in a snarl mere inches from Alastor's nose. "Who are you to judge me? You dare to speak of things you know nothing about?!"

Eyes void of pupils glared down at him, staring down into his very soul. Feeling exposed, feeling vulnerable, Alastor's flight or fight response kicked in, sending his heart rate through the roof. He tried to dissolve into his shadow, only to find himself unable to do so.

In response to his distress, he shadows rose up, diving in to take out his attacker. Lucifer didn't even acknowledge them. His wings appeared behind him, flooding the room with a bright light that drove away any and all shadows.

Sensing he was caught, the part of Alastor's brain that was every bit the prey animal he worked so hard not to let himself be forced him to go still under a dangerous predator.

"You are nothing more than a rapid dog nipping at my heels." Lucifer growled, the smell of smoke heavy on his breathe. "I should put you out of your misery, once and for all."

Alastor swallowed, forced himself to think through the molasses of his fear. He may be pinned and powerless, but he wasn't completely without weapons. He was never more glad that his smile was fixed in place as he stated, "Ah, there you are, your Majesty. You had Charlie worried about you."

He was almost able to keep the grimace out of his voice. Almost.

Alastor wondered if that had been perhaps the wrong thing to say, as Lucifer tightened his grip until bones began to grind together. Red tipped fingers curled inwards, the only sign of his pain.

Golden pupils appeared between one blink to the next, tracking the movement. As if he actually cared about the pain he could be causing, Lucifer's grip loosened, just enough that they were simply pinning instead of inflicting harm. His voice, on the other hand, held no mercy, as he asked, "What does my daughter have to do with this?"

Growing more confident the longer the king didn't kill him, Alastor explained, "Well, when she didn't hear from you today, Charlie asked me to come check on you, of course!" It wasn't entirely the truth, but it was close enough to hold up under any immediate scrutiny.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, all to happy to bring on the scrutiny. "Why would she send you?"

Alastor shrugged like he wasn't pinned under someone who was just trying to kill him mere moments ago. "Because I was the only one that could get into the room. Perks of being the Hotel Manager!" As his panic began to settle with each passing moment Lucifer was slowly returning to his normal form, the feeling of his skin crawling from every point of contact between them was beginning to rise. He needed to get Lucifer off him and soon. "In fact, she's waiting for word back right at this moment!"

Lucifer's eyes, pupils red and sclera yellow again, searched him, likely to see if he was telling the truth. Upon seeing that he was, he proceeded to finally make a mistake.

He took his eyes off of his captive to glance at the door, hands loosing just that tiny, crucial bit more.

Alastor caught his heels on the edge of the bed, using the leverage to raise his hips up into a bridge. The new position forced Lucifer to either release his wrists to catch himself or face plant as he was thrown forward. Luckily for the redhead, Lucifer went for catching himself, releasing Alastor, who immediately sprung up, catching the blond around the waist. Twisting, the two toppled over.

Within mere seconds, their positions were reversed: Alastor on top and Lucifer pinned to the mattress on his back.

The little king blinked up at him. He almost looked impressed with the move. He glanced at the hands pinning his wrists, flexing them as he tested the strength of the grip. Squirmed a little as the new position was likely putting an uncomfortable weight on his wings.

Good, Alastor thought. At any other time and situation, Alastor might have been fascinated by them. At the moment, his grip on those deceptively dainty wrists and any signs of discomfort were the only thing allowing him to hold onto his sanity.

For a long moment, they simply remained still, both parties regaining control over their frayed nerves. As his heart rate settled, his breathing normalizing, Alastor became aware of something he hadn't noticed over the stench of melancholy: his own scent.

It was becoming stale, but he could still was still there, separate from what he was currently leaving behind. It clung to Lucifer's person like a neon sign to tell anyone with the nose for it that he had let the Radio Demon close enough to him to make a claim.

He hadn't gotten rid of it.

The knowledge awoke a beast of a different kind, possessive and wanting, the scales tipping from Alastor wanting to devour this prize to wanting to keep him, if only he could figure out how. It left him nearly dizzy with whiplash.

Movement pulled him out of the thought. The redhead focused back on the outside world in time to see Lucifer directing his attention down the length of his own body. Alastor, without thinking, did the same.

Something hot and mortified clawed at his throat as he realized that while the blonde had been sitting on his hips in the original hold, the change in position had Alastor pinning Lucifer to a bed while sitting between his legs.

Alastor threw himself off of Lucifer and the bed, feeling like every point of contact had burned him. Lucifer raised himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow at him. The redhead didn't know what he saw in his expression before it was all locked away behind his mask, but it resulted in the blonde's own expression growing tired.

Lucifer let himself fall back onto the bed, seemingly heedless of his wings, running a hand down his face. "Message received." He waved a hand at the door. The spell on the door fell away with a light shower of sparks. Task down, the limb fell limp down onto the mattress. "Please tell Charlie I'll be down shortly."

It was a clear dismissal. Usually Alastor would have bristled at such a thing, but considering he did not want to be in that room anymore, he let it go. Forcing everything back into place, despite the ways his edges were feeling frayed, he said faux pleasantly, "As you wish, sire."

He paid little attention to the half assed wave of goodbye he received in response. When he disappeared into his shadow, he refused to look too deeply into how much it felt like he was running.

Again.

tbc

Part 8

[stxrry-dxys]

i said i wasn’t gonna say more on the whole watcher debacle but sorry i just have to talk about the ai art allegations cuz holy shit this is a massive oversight.

before going in i’d like to clarify that i don’t think steven, ryan, or shane personally implemented this BUT it was absolutely their responsibility to check over what their crew members put in their videos.

disclaimer that i did not personally find these, they were brought up through reddit threads on the snark and main subreddit.

this is the most egregious one. look at the hands. the unnatural length of the fingers. the NUMBER of fingers, the way the hands curl. that is not a mistake a human artists makes. and the way the clothes distort, the fact that one of the shirts looks like it has a finger hanging out of it. in what world is this not obviously computer generated.

this one is harder to notice, but pay attention to the bars on the boat, how they’re uneven, wobbly, some even stopping and starting up randomly. the boat’s reflection in the water does not reflect back the actual silhouette of the boat. the silhouettes of the people are harder to see but a lot of them look more like wonky blobs, though admittedly this part is rather weak.

this is the one i think i believe the least but am bringing it up anyways for posterity. the foot is wonky and the back one appears to be missing. his proportions are very off. and i cant say for certain but i seriously doubt a shadow would be that thin from this angle. this one is probably the weakest piece of evidence but feels relevant to include anyways.

there’s more i believe but it’s 3 am and i don’t wanna go personally hunting for it.

this isn’t even a new topic, people have brought it up in comments and threads in the past. and i know good and well this goes against morals that they have brought up before, so this is not quite the look you’d want. using ai art that steals from other creatives to claim as it’s own is not something i’d hope to see from a company that prides itself on being high quality art. it is entirely possible this is just the doing of someone on the art or editing team, but when one of your figureheads and his wife is openly against generative ai like this, you would expect quality control to ensure this never happens.

i hope they’ll speak up about this, and either prove that this isn’t the case or deal with whoever implemented this, though i’m doubtful they will. if they don’t address it and continue to use ai generated art then i hope everyone all has a long look at whether or not this company is as genuine in its passion for creativity as they have tried to appear.

honestly either way i don’t care, im done with these three’s content and have been for a while, but those of you still supporting deserve all the information you can as they proceed forward with this “plan” of theirs. make whatever decision you want regarding this, i wish you all the very best.

[dwarf-hat-enjoyer]

I meant to ask yesterday, but how ab some touch starved Harvey head cannons? <3

🤝Touch-Starved Harvey🤝

synopsis: Exactly what it says on the tin <3 Our favorite town doctor craves physical intimacy more than he knows. Headcanons+drabble of how he copes with it, how he reacts to physical contact, and a bonus of how he reacts to receiving physical affection! gn!Farmer, romance. SFW.

w.c.: 1.7k words!

content warnings: None!

A.N.: BABY'S FIRST REQUEST! Thank you so much :,) Highkey this was super enjoyable for me to write and I'm REALLY happy that you liked my other post enough to pop in!!! Enjoy &lt;3

Before the farmer, before befriending Maru and assimilating into his role as the meek and respectful town doctor, he had always been rather avoidant to initiating casual physical contact. Everything he gave, everything he received- it all ranged from polite social expectancies to standard work-related procedures. He didn't think much of it. Having always been a more anxious type, the possibility of making another uncomfortable was always on his mind in these interactions, and what better way to avoid such a thing than to not have it at all? Handshakes and the occasional stiff hug were enough for him. Unfortunately, this proved to be a bit of an oversight on his end, considering the side-effects it would provide.

By the time the farmer arrives, his chronic loneliness has very much caught up with him. Not only has he distanced himself physically from others around him, but mentally as well. Outside of his clinic, the way Harvey's been so avoidant to touch has turned it into a source of anxiety for him. His self-consciousness extends to this field as well- when Granny Evelyn beckons him to lean down for a hug after he's finished his house visit to George, he worries that he's hugged her too tightly or for too long in the very back of his mind. Even the handshake exchanged with the governor at the last year's Luau haunts his memory, with the constant niggling thought that he hadn't been firm enough.

And don't get this man started on his non-existent romantic life. Moving to such a small town those few years ago, he knew that prospects like that would be limited, to say the very least. Many of the eligible singles in town, as lovely as they were, were...well, not exactly his type. And even those that were, how could a guy like him ever manage anything with anyone? The thought of being forward or flirtatious in any way practically gave him hives. But the idea of having someone to be close to, physically and emotionally...He couldn't say that he didn't crave that. But all in all, he wholeheartedly believed that it wasn't in the cards for him and his touch-starved ways.

Enter the farmer. They were just another patient to Harvey in the beginning, another member of the town for him to look after. He didn't pay much attention when they touched him or when he touched them, aside from his ordinary overthinking. He couldn't afford to think too deeply about, really. He was their doctor, for Yoba's sake, and whether it was a friendly punch in the arm or a simple tap on the shoulder to get his attention, it would be highly unprofessional to dwell on. Besides, the mystique of being new in town and charmingly single was sure to draw them quite a few pairs of eyes, anyway. How could he compete?

Well...He definitely began thinking about that. Time marched forward as time does, and an unexpected friendship began to blossom. Harvey being Harvey, it was hard for him to recognize his developing feelings at first. Their gestures became more frequent, and his heart swelled with each one. Whether it be grabbing his wrist to drag him to see their chickens or a grateful hug for patching them up after a night in the mines, it lingered in his mind longer than it should have. When the day came that he idly pondered asking them to the coming year's Flower Dance, it all suddenly became clear to him: He'd fallen. And he'd fallen hard.

Everything suddenly became so much more meaningful. The coffee and pickles they'd frequently brought him, fresh from their farm. When he caught them looking at him and only him among the faces of a festival crowd, was that a sign? Did they think about him as often as he thought about them? Did they think about his touch the way he thought about theirs? With all these thoughts swirling about in his head, he would suddenly become much more reserved around the farmer, quiet and flustered as if a single word could shatter the friendship they'd so carefully cultivated already.

Eventually, something would have to be said about his behavior. This is Harvey, after all- and even if it weren't, who in their right mind would suddenly clam up the way he did for no good reason?

Clamming up...Was that what he was doing? Harvey sighed to himself as he took in the early summer atmosphere. He brushed his knuckle over the surface of the fountain's water, sitting contemplatively at its edge. It was on days like these where he wished he had the confidence and sense to dress down a little rather than sweltering away in his slacks and button-up shirt, but there were other things on his mind. The sweat on his brow was the least of his concern. How could it be anything else? He'd recently realized that it had been two or three weeks since he'd realized his feelings towards the farmer, after all- which marked two or three weeks since his overthinking was pushed into overdrive by every little moment between them. His mind wandered back to the early days of their friendship. When Harvey closed his eyes envisioned his feelings, true to his bookish personality, he saw a graph. With every little moment between them, the line grew bit by bit until it became positively exponential. The way the farmer aided him at George's check-up was the first incident he could recall. When George, being every bit the stubborn old man he was at first glance, chastised Harvey for his advice, their sudden appearance ended up making the appointment much less of a headache than he expected. Their own appointment went a similar route, with them being one of his easier patients. It went as smoothly as it could have. Harvey had nearly forgotten the incident, but their pulse stuck out in the otherwise unremarkable memory. They were a farmer, for Yoba's sake. They had a business to run, physical labor to attend to and an entire town to entertain to keep themself afloat both financially and socially. Any other doctor wouldn't've thought twice about it and simply moved on with their day. Any other doctor wouldn't've fallen this hard for a patient, he reminded himself grimly. "Hey, Harvey!" In an instant, his thoughtful silence shattered like an egg thrown at the mountainside at the sound of the familiar voice. They'd sought him out. Did he really mean that much to them? Damn it all, doctor, don't get your hopes up! The contents of the farmer's backpack rustled and clanged with every step as they trotted up to him. With a proud grin on their face, they held out their hand expectantly, a small something clutched in their fist. "Oh. Erm...Hi. How are you today?" Harvey asked politely. The farmer blinked, then smiled warmly. "I'm doing alright. Just got back from the mines. Don't have a heart attack, I managed to find that purple mushroom you asked for at a level that wouldn't kill me." Harvey chuckled stiffly, reaching for the mushroom presented in their hand. Big, big mistake. It was a simple brush of their fingers. He hesitated to even call it a mere accident. They seemed so calm, despite the fact that he'd definitely lingered for a millisecond longer than he should have. In the moment, he cleared his throat awkwardly, preparing to apologize- "Harvey." "Ah, I'm sor- Yes?" he stammered, smiling in a way he prayed didn't seem nervous. "If you're going to apologize for touching me," the farmer began, gently yet firmly, "I'm gonna take that mushroom right back. You're squeezing that poor fungus to death, anyway." It was only at their words that he noticed his death grip on the mushroom. He opened his mouth to apologize anyway, but the farmer continued, "That's just something I noticed, you know? One, you've been super quiet with me lately, and two, every time we so much as brush up against each other when we do talk, you start tripping over your words and apologizing as if you just slapped me." "I know that you do get bouts of anxiety, but..." The farmer trailed off, "We're still friends, right?" Their question was genuine, concern-wrought and excruciatingly, painfully innocent. Harvey could hear their voice quieting as it left their lips- not accusatory, simply gentle and ready for whatever answer he'd give.

Harvey fumbled over his words before they'd even left his mouth. To explain himself would be to reveal the absolute fool he had been. Avoiding them for as long as he did would've only harmed their relationship, just as the farmer revealed had happened that moment. Of course they were worried. Of course they wondered whether or not he was mad at them. Of course they'd be hurt by the way he'd shied from every touch of theirs, all because he had made great towering mountains out of the littlest molehills. "Harvey…?" "It's complicated," he blurted out. The farmer's eyes widened as the words poured out of him. "I've tried to keep our relationship professional at first. After that, I- I thought it would be strictly platonic. I didn't even consider the fact that I would feel this way about you." "What do you mean 'this way?'" they prompted him gently. This farmer was going to kill him with how sweetly patient they were being. With a deep breath, he spat it out. "I'm interested in you. Romantically." What Harvey expected in that moment was a kind let-down. A small speech about how they value him as a friend, but can't see any sort of future with them. At worst, a sneer and a more curt rejection. They wouldn't be the type to laugh and mock him, this much he knew. What he hadn't expected was the smile pricking at their lips. Nor did he anticipate the way they reached softly for his hand and the electric joy that set every nerve in his body alight at their touch. It was all clear now. And damn, he truly was a fool to believe so deeply that they didn't feel the same. "Is that all, big guy?" … Oh, farmer. You'll be the death of this doctor yet.

~FIN~

[astrofuckingnomical]

I don't want to overstep, but I do have some concerns about endos. I feel like self diagnosing when you don't have truama that caused DID is a bit iffy. I am not saying that endos feelings are invalid. I'm saying that it might be more of an oversight. If I'm being quite honest as someone who has friends with DID and has been given their opinion on the matter, I think it would be more likely to be some other undiagnosed disorder. Or possible BPD in mimicking behaviors. I respect anyone who identifies as an endo and I'm not saying that you can't identify as such. But if you do think your a system of any kind its very important to see a psychologist. Because DID is serious and needs to be diagnosed as it's not something to self diagnose. It makes DID not valid, which is wrong because it is.

please, don't self diagnose. Because you can make a mistake and treat the wrong thing. please, go to a psychologist when you are able.

[whinlatter]

The movie ootp showed this differently, but in the books, Sirius doesn't really show much physical affection to Harry. In book 4 he helped Harry to a chair, and held his shoulder, but when he left bc Dumbledore told him to (weird on it's own but that's my opinion) he parts from Harry with a handshake. When Harry stays with Sirius in ootp he isn't described at any point to have hugged him, expect a quick, hurried, half hug at the end of the Xmas holiday. I always found this curious, because the intensity and even co dependency that these two have is huge. Harry relies soo much on Sirius, Sirius does so much to be in Harry's life but that emotional affection never translates into a physical thing. Molly is the first to give Harry a bear hug when he needs it most. Maybe I'm missing something? Harry is far from a physical boi, I know. Maybe it's me, I'm Dutch, English culture is quite different than my own Dutch culture in ways of interaction, we never adress someone in last names, that's considered very rude here for example. We are very direct and familiar, even with authority and family. What do you think of this? Is this JK not computing Sirius's character in every scene or is there a reason I'm just missing? I just wish Sirius and Harry has more physical moments. My Dad and uncles hug me all the time, families do that, I'd just think Harry's Godfather would be familiair and safe enough to hug more than just one time. Their emotional bond seems to impy so. Sorry for the long ask lol. I'd love to hear someone on this!

this is a super interesting question, thank you so much!

i think you're totally right that it's striking how little physical contact/affection sirius and harry share in the books. (film sirius is king of the cuddles). i don't think this is an oversight in the text, but something quite deliberate, both as a characterisation choice for sirius, which i'll get into below, but also to set up something that's still 'missing' in harry's relationships - loving physical affection with a loved one - even after sirius comes into his life, that will be, in part, resolved by ginny.

you're right, i think, that cultural factors do come into sirius' lack of comfort with physical touch towards harry. sirius is a posh english man born in 1959, which would be enough to make for a pretty repressed character prone to limited displays of physical affection towards friends and family members of all genders at the best of times (not huge huggers, that lot). but sirius also enters the series in the canon timeline after twelve years of intense physical and emotional isolation, living in a body that's been through a lot and must be uncomfortable and sometimes painful to inhabit. sirius is arm in arm with james in the marauders photograph on his wall at grimmauld, and at james' wedding, so it's entirely possible he was more comfortable with physical contact prior to azkaban - the kind of breezy, easy display of contact he does on occasion to show to harry that's a bit reminscent of ron (a clap on the back, a hand on the shoulder, a handshake) - and reasonable to assume that an ease with such physical displays of affection might be something prison cost him.

i also think, though, that the physical distance sirius keeps from harry is supposed to be a sign of more complex and difficult parts of their relationship (sirius' attempts to maintain some distance from harry so as not to make harry feel responsible for him emotionally, sirius grappling with the guilt he feels for his part in lily and james' deaths and subsequent inability to be able to protect harry from all that he's endured since). harry wants more displays of affection from sirius than sirius feels he can comfortably or easily give (it's why i've never been much on board with fanon reads of harry that have him as someone touch averse - he seeks and accepts physical contact with friends and loved ones throughout canon, particularly in the later books). harry even seems to experience these moments of one-armed hugs and handshakes as disappointments. sirius, of course, would prefer to show his devotion and love for harry in other ways, including putting himself in danger to protect his godson, which harry increasingly doesn't want him to do by ootp.

for harry's sake, the absence of much physical touch in his relationship with sirius bolsters this sense of something still missing in harry's life even while sirius is alive, and serves to imbue moments of physical contact with other parental figures - and eventually in his romantic life - with greater significance. this is especially true, as you say, with molly. that GoF hug means a lot to harry, and the big hug he gives her in DH after the birthday present is supposed to be an important moment for both characters, but especially for harry's feelings for molly as a maternal figure. meanwhile, in harry's romantic life, it's striking how little he and cho ever actually touch: they have one (seemingly weirdly hands-free) off-stage kiss that harry recalls as quite physically unpleasant, and harry has to give himself a fifteen minute pep talk to try and hold her hand (flop). so then when ginny finally comes along, the reader's supposed to be like, oh damn, finally harry potter's getting a hug or two (and, you know, more than that, but the physical touch love language point still stands!)